Sherlock's Dream of What Might Have Been
by GoodShipSherlollipop
Summary: As a first-time father at 41, Sherlock (from Journey) ponders how things might have been different if he and Molly had met earlier. He dreams they meet first at uni and start to become friends, have a falling out and meet again later at St. Bart's. Follows series canon through post TFP, secret relationship. Parentlock. *Rating changed to M for sensual but NOT explicit love scenes*
1. First Encounter

**Author's note:** I would like to thank kstewmanipulation from Tumblr for allowing me to use another of their manips for this story. I saw the picture and it looked like a younger version of Sherlock and Molly that would fit in with my story of them meeting at uni. I have written extra scenes to add information about that cover image so it is included in the story.

* * *

 ** _Prologue_**

Sherlock glanced at the small, framed picture he kept on his nightstand. A few months earlier, his mother-in-law had given him a CD which had scanned digital images of all the photos she had of Molly as she was growing up. He had seen the photos initially when Ruth Hooper had showed them to him after dinner one night, before he and Molly had been married.

There was one photo Sherlock really liked. It was a picture of Molly in her university days. Her hair was shorter than it was now, just shoulder length and a little lighter. She was wearing a bright orange top, and a double strand of a black, beaded necklace was around her neck. She was showing just a hint of a dimple while giving a Mona Lisa smile that seemed to imply she had a secret. Molly had no idea why he liked it so much, but he did. Sherlock felt that if he had met the girl in the photograph, he would have been mesmerised by her, even though he knew he had avoided any type of sentiment in those days. _The only thing missing from the picture is me,_ Sherlock thought, as he wondered, not for the first time, how his life might have been different if he had known Molly back then.

When Sherlock had downloaded the photo and printed out an image of it, Molly had thought it was ridiculous of him to have a picture of her from so long ago, but he didn't care. He had framed it and now it sat on his nightstand for him to view if his wife wasn't around, like when she was on nightshift and the bed felt lonely without her presence.

Of course, he didn't have to worry about sleeping alone at night again for a few more weeks, and Sherlock couldn't help smiling at the thought.

He turned his gaze away from the photo to look at his very-much-present wife, who was in bed beside him. He watched as she fed their six week old baby. Molly had a pillow under her arm to support it as she held the infant. Victoria had been suckling for about ten minutes, and Sherlock could see that both mother and baby were drifting off to sleep.

He loved watching Molly feed their child. There was something so heart-warming, knowing their baby was being nourished by her mother, even outside of the womb.

The last six weeks had been quite an adjustment for both of them, well the three of them actually. Victoria was not the best sleeper, which of course was not unusual at this stage. Sherlock had been assured by John and the midwife who had come to them for Molly's post-natal visits and afterwards to see how things were doing, that Victoria would _eventually_ settle into a more regular sleep schedule. As far as Sherlock was concerned, it couldn't come soon enough.

When they had brought the baby home, it had been scary, plain and simple. All of a sudden, you had this tiny infant depending on you to feed them, clothe them and change them. Your life revolved around them.

Sherlock and Molly hadn't even had a proper kiss until the baby was almost two weeks old. They were both exhausted and ready to nap at a moment's notice when the baby decided to sleep. Vaguely, Sherlock recalled a time when John and Mary had been visiting Baker Street, and they had fallen asleep on the sofa, while he had tried to take care of Rosie in his inexperienced way. Now he understood why.

Sherlock had insisted on Molly buying a breast pump, so that he too could assist in feeding the baby. The pump came with three bottles. Producing the extra milk was not an easy task either for his poor wife. That pump had some fierce suction, he noticed, and Molly would often wince while using it. However, she persisted, and Sherlock had now fed Victoria several times during the night in order to give Molly some time to sleep.

As Sherlock continued to watch his two girls, the infant's mouth fell away from her mother's breast as she slept. Sherlock gingerly got off the bed and went around to Molly's side of the bed. He gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind Molly's ear and kissed her cheek. She smiled at him through weary, half closed eyes and allowed him to extract their sleeping baby from her encircling arm. He then settled Victoria gently into the Moses basket by the bed, hoping she would remain asleep. Quite often, the slightest sound of movement caused her to awaken and cry, and then he would rock her back to sleep again while humming various classical tunes or Brahms' Lullaby, only to often have to repeat the process when he tried to lay her down again.

Sherlock and Molly had a cot for their baby, but they used it only during the day. At night it was much more convenient to have Victoria in the same room with them. Yes, it meant they usually both woke when the infant started to cry, but the one not on "active duty" fell back asleep quickly.

Sherlock kissed his sleeping daughter's forehead, marvelling at how perfect she was. He was sure she would have her mother's colouring. She had a head full of light brown, straight hair, much to Molly's disappointment and Sherlock's delight. She did have the Holmes blue-green eyes however, which tempered his wife's disappointment somewhat. Of course, he reflected, not for the first time, eye colour could change over the first few months.

Sherlock crept back into the bed, easing himself under the covers, gently pulling away the pillow that had been under Molly's arm, and then drawing her close. They had not had much opportunity to sleep at the same time, let alone make love, and Sherlock missed the intimacy. They had been told that Molly's body needed a month to heal after giving birth before they could be physically intimate. That time had passed but they had only made love twice since then because they were too tired to muster any energy for such things most of the time. After being used to sharing themselves with one another almost every night, oftentimes more than once in the span of a day, this was definitely a change that he did not particularly care for.

Sherlock wondered, as he settled Molly closely against him, and she gave a small sigh of contentment, whether he was so tired because he was forty-one. Would he have found it easier to manage things if he had come to his senses earlier about Molly? Molly had had a dream when they were engaged that she had become pregnant a few months before Sherrinford occurred. That dream had begun as if they had met at uni. Ever since that time, now and then he wondered how life might have been different if their history had gone back that far, just as he had again been thinking only a few minutes earlier. Would Molly's influence have made him into a better man? It had certainly done so later. _Yes,_ he thought, _I would very much like to have met Molly back then._

With those thoughts in his mind, Sherlock finally fell into sleep and eventually began to dream.

 ** _The Dream Begins_**

Sherlock was sitting in the university library in January as he habitually did on Friday nights. He was usually the only one there, because students tended to like to go and have fun on the weekends. Sherlock though, liked the quietness of the library. It was calming.

He was rather surprised then on this Friday evening to notice that he was not the only person sitting at his usual table. There was a girl with long brown hair, seated at the end of it. He glanced over at her, surprised. His gaze focussed on the book in her hands that she was apparently reading. It was one of his personal favourites, "A Tale of Two Cities."

Despite himself, Sherlock was intrigued. She seemed very young, _probably in her first year,_ he thought. He himself was young to be doing a postgraduate degree at the age of twenty, but she looked, what, - _Seventeen? Eighteen?_ He didn't usually notice students of the female persuasion, being much more interested in his studies.

Sherlock Holmes was rather an isolationist. For some reason he could not deduce, he possessed no strong emotions. He was unable to muster enthusiasm for anything. Life was what it was. His life plan was to finish his studies, get a job, work for the next fifty odd years and then die. It would be nice if he left the world in a better place than he had found it, he supposed. Otherwise his life would have had no meaning or relevance whatsoever. He had already decided he was very interested in solving crimes. He had keen powers of observation and had often watched news reports in the past, calling in tips to help investigators at crime scenes if he noticed anything unusual on the telly. He was sure New Scotland Yard was run by a group of imbeciles.

The future detective had no social life. The roommates of his undergraduate days had never convinced him it was worth going out to get drunk and pick up girls. He had seen the results of those things, unplanned pregnancies, harsh breakups, failing grades. What a waste of time to study if you were not going to complete your education due to unexpected fatherhood or depression and dropping out of school. He was above such mundane things. When he wanted a buzz, he'd find a dealer on the street and buy some drugs to get high, alone. They were easy to obtain, if you knew where to look.

Sherlock tried to concentrate on what he was reading, a very engrossing story about Jack the Ripper. The young man was sure if he had been on hand in those days, he would have been able to deduce who the famous serial killer was. He was finding it difficult to concentrate though. The turning of pages by the mysterious girl was distracting, even though it was not loud. He frowned, trying to shut his ears to the sound. He was almost successful, until he heard the unmistakable sound of a sob, and he lifted his head from his own book.

The girl had put the book down and she was crying. Ah, she had undoubtedly just finished it. It did indeed have rather a sad ending, although a hopeful one too. _This girl is obviously the sensitive, sentimental type,_ he reflected.

He was going to just ignore her crying, but suddenly he found himself standing, walking towards her, offering her a hanky from his pocket.

She looked up, sniffed and accepted the hanky. "Thank you. I'm sorry I disturbed you."

"You didn't disturb me," he lied, because wasn't that the correct social thing to say? He really wasn't up on that sort of thing. He didn't want to make the girl feel worse than she already did, however.

Unexpectedly, her lips curved upward as she dabbed at her eyes and gave him an interested look. "You're lying, but thanks anyway. Hey, aren't you Sherlock Holmes?"

Apparently his reputation had preceded him. He knew he had a bit of a reputation on campus for being a stuck-up arse, but it didn't bother him. It kept people away, most of the time.

He tilted his head slightly in acknowledgment. "One and the same. You have me at a disadvantage, however. May I have your name?" Wasn't that what one said in those old films his brother liked to watch, and made him watch as well? He might as well be polite, especially seeing as he was the one to go to her.

She glanced down shyly, then met his gaze once again. "I'm Molly." She stuck out her hand and he shook it gingerly. He was not accustomed to shaking hands either. She hadn't said her last name, but perhaps she was just being careful.

"Would you take a seat?" she asked, indicating the chair next to her. "You're very tall, you know. It would be easier to talk if we were on the same level." Her lips quirked.

 _Well, now I'm going to be stuck into making small talk, damn_. Nonetheless, he took the seat next to her and gestured at her novel. " _It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to, than I have ever known_ ," he quoted, then continued, "I'm assuming you just finished the book."

Her lips parted slightly and she raised her eyebrows. "You're obviously familiar with this book. How did you know I just finished it?"

He shrugged. "Simple deduction - you were crying, but there was a bit of a smile on your face at the same time."

The girl - Molly - smiled at him. _She has a lovely dimpled smile, it lights up her whole face,_ he thought, then wondered how he had noticed. "It was a lovely book. I mean, dying to save someone else's life is the ultimate sacrifice."

He nodded. "I suppose it is. But at least Dickens added a little whimsy at the end, indicating a probable happy future for Lucie and Darnay."

"Yes, it was nice to imagine that Carton's sacrifice would not be forgotten in the future," she agreed, as her fingers reached for the cover of the book and stroked it gently, as if it were an old friend.

She had nice hands, he observed, despite himself. Well manicured, though kept short, no nail varnish. Apparently she was also the practical type. Her face was also devoid of makeup, which further confirmed his hypothesis on her nature. He forced himself to stop making deductions and return to the conversation at hand. "Were you reading it for a class?" he enquired, lifting a questioning brow.

She crumpled the hanky into one hand while absently twirling a piece of her hair with the other as she responded. "No, a friend recommended the book. She's an English major."

"And you?" Why was he continuing to ask her questions this way? He should simply tell her to keep the hanky and walk away. But he didn't. For some odd reason he was intrigued. Maybe it was those soft brown eyes of hers.

He caught a quick glimpse of pink tongue as she licked her lips nervously. She was apparently not accustomed to social interactions either, at least not with a male, he supposed. "I'm studying medicine. How about you?"

Apparently she knew of his reputation but not everything about him if she was asking that. "I'm doing a postgraduate degree in Forensic Medical Sciences."

"Oh," she said, drawing out the word. "I should have known that, I heard that you were the youngest graduate here and that you were doing postgraduate now. I think that sounds like a fascinating course. What field are you looking at going into? Are you thinking of applying for a job at New Scotland Yard?"

Sherlock let out a bark of laughter. It sounded odd. He did not even remember the last time he had expressed amusement over something. "Those buffoons? They couldn't solve a case if someone handed them the answer."

Molly pursed her lips and frowned at him, "That's rather rude. I suppose you think you could do a better job?"

"Of course I could," he said confidently, while she looked at him sceptically.

"So what _do_ you plan to do when you've finished studying then?" she persisted, resting an elbow on the table and cupping her chin with her hand as her brows drew together slightly.

Sherlock ran a hand through his hair casually. "I don't know, open a private detective agency or possibly work on chemistry experiments," he said vaguely. "Or maybe offer my consultation services to New Scotland Yard when there is a case they don't know how to solve."

"Oh." She looked thoughtful for a moment, staring down at the hanky in her closed hand, then back up to meet his eyes. "Sort of like a consulting detective maybe?"

 _Consulting detective,_ he thought, intrigued by the term. _It's perfect._ He nodded his head sagely, as if he had always been planning to think of himself that way. "That's it exactly." He forced himself to continue the polite conversation. "How about you? What do you plan to do when you have finished your degree?"

Molly looked down, and he saw she was biting her lip. It was a curiously sweet gesture, although biting one's lip would undoubtedly lead to broken skin and potential bleeding.

"I'm thinking of going into pathology. My dad was just diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, and it has given me the desire to know more about the human body, and diseases in general."

 _Pancreatic cancer? That isn't good._ Most people died within a year of diagnosis because it was so rarely caught early. "I'm sorry about your dad," he said softly, reaching over to place a hand over hers, then thinking better of it and returning his hand back into his lap. That was not the sort of thing you did with somebody you had just met.

She gave him a wobbly, brave smile, still biting her lip rather adorably, he thought, then caught himself. Where had _that_ thought come from? He had a sudden urge to touch that lip. Oh dear, now he was thinking of physical contact with someone? That was worse than placing a hand over hers. He shook his head to clear it of the notion.

She frowned slightly, looking a little confused. "Why are you shaking your head?"

"Sorry, I was just clearing my mind palace," he responded, without thinking. He always thought of his brain as something with rooms in it, in which he placed information. Most people immediately questioned him on that, but to his surprise, she did not, merely lifted one eyebrow just slightly.

"Um, okay. Well, thanks for the hanky anyway." Oh good, the conversation was ending, although for some reason he wasn't as anxious for it to end as he would have expected. "I can wash it for you and return it to you?" she offered.

"Keep it," he said off-handedly, then thought better of it. There was something about this young woman that made him feel as if he would like to learn a little more about her. "Actually, yes, if you don't mind, I would like that hanky back." She didn't need to know that he had a dozen exactly like it, plain, white and practical.

She twirled her hair around her finger once again. This was obviously a nervous habit of hers. "So, um, where can I find you?" She picked up her novel as she spoke.

"Here, every Friday night." He smiled slightly, indicating the book that still sat at his previous position.

"Okay then, well, I'll bring it in next week." She placed the handkerchief in a pocket of her trousers and stood, looking at him uncertainly, as if unsure whether their conversation was at an end.

Sherlock leaned back slightly in his chair to look up at her, feeling he was at a height disadvantage. He did not like looking up at people. "Would it be impolite of me to ask why you came here tonight? Nobody comes here on Friday nights. Everyone likes their free time to go to parties and the like."

The girl pressed her lips together, and her forehead creased as if she were irritated to be thought of in that way. "Well, I don't do that. Usually I stay in my room and read." One side of her mouth tilted upward in a wry smile. "I kind of got kicked out tonight by my roommate. She wanted some private time with her latest boyfriend."

His own lips quirked as he responded, "Ah, romantic entanglements. I keep well away from those."

"I had heard that," she murmured, almost to herself.

"Pardon?" he enquired, raising an eyebrow.

"I...uh...sorry," she stammered and blushed. So, she had a stammer when she was nervous. _Interesting_. "I have heard you don't much care for people." She pulled in her lower lip, biting it once again, as if she were worried that she had offended him.

"That is true," he agreed amiably, as he stood also, deciding it was time to return to a height advantage.

She swallowed nervously, stepping back a little and looking up at him to say hastily, "But you seem perfectly nice to me," and he chuckled. _Since when do I chuckle?_

It was a little disconcerting. It was definitely time for him to leave before he did anything else out of character - like trace his finger along the curve of her lips and bend down to kiss her or something. _Where the hell had that thought come from?_

He was angry at himself then, and spoke a little sharply, "'Well, you don't know the real me, do you?"

She looked taken aback, as her face fell. "Sorry, sorry." She turned to leave.

 _That was unnecessarily mean,_ his inner voice reprimanded. He pushed a hand through his hair. "No, I'm sorry. I...I am not used to social interaction." _Now I'm stammering too? How utterly embarrassing._

Molly turned back to him and offered a genuine smile, which unaccountably made his heartbeat accelerate. "Anyone can learn to be sociable. All it takes is a little kindness."

His lips tightened as he reminded himself that he was a man of science, not a hormonal teenager. He really should have let her keep the hanky, but it was too late now. "Okay then. Well, I must be going now. I guess I will see you next week."

"Next week," she repeated softly in her musical voice, and he retreated hastily, walking back to where he had been sitting, scooping up the book and returning it to its place, even as he noticed she was still standing quietly, unmoving.

He fled the library, positively hurrying out of the building to the safety of his flat. His thoughts were all in a whirl as he walked quickly. _Pretty - coffee coloured eyes - long brown hair - kissable lips._ He did not need this complication in his life. Next week, when he saw her again, he'd have to make sure she was completely aware of the fact that he was _not_ interested in a relationship of any type with a girl. Yes, that was what he would do.

But despite himself, Sherlock knew he was looking forward to seeing the girl, Molly, again.

* * *

 **Author's note 2:** So, what do you think of the set-up to this story? Have I captured your interest? I began writing this last March and was never able to find the proper time in which to publish it, because it takes place after Sherlock and Molly have their baby. Finally though, I decided it was time. I will be making revisions to improve the flow before I publish the chapters, using all the things I have learned over the past several months since I completed the initial writing this story, but even with revisions I am hoping to publish twice a week.

Secret relationships always intrigue me. This is my second attempt. If you have not read it already, my first one was _What if we met at Uni? Molly's Dream.r_ It starts with a meeting at the same time period but takes a completely different path than this one. I will be interested if people will tell me at the end which one they prefer.

By the way, the talk of breast pumps early in the chapter, I assure you was quite accurate - they are _not_ fun to use, can be quite painful at times!

In the meantime, please leave your feedback in the review box below. As I have been doing lately, I will be keeping a tally of my reviews and acknowledging the most loyal reviewers in the final chapter, those people who are the ones who keep me going whenever I question whether I should be investing so much of my unpaid time on this site.

I welcome suggestions as well and if you see errors, feel free to point them out. At times my limited vision leads to me missing things like quote marks or capital letters in the wrong places, things like that.


	2. Getting to Know You

The week passed very slowly for Sherlock. Even though he knew it was ridiculous, as the time grew closer to Friday night, he grew both more apprehensive and more excited.

 _You do not like sentiment of any kind,_ he told himself sternly several times, but for some reason his logical thinking was not quite as in control as it usually was.

Sherlock reached the library at his usual time. Molly was not there, and he felt a little twinge of disappointment. He walked through the stacks and found the volume of Jack the Ripper he had been reading the previous week. When he returned to the table, his heart gave an involuntary leap. She was there, and she looked as if she was waiting for him, standing near the spot he had occupied the previous week.

"Hi," she said softly, holding out her hand. "Here's your hanky. I washed it."

Sherlock took it from her. "Thank you." He sat down and then patted the seat next to himself. "Care to join me?" _Now why did I do that?_ he wondered. _Why am I trying to prolong this acquaintance?_

She smiled at him. _She has an extraordinarily sweet smile,_ he thought, then wondered why sentiment continued to creep into his thoughts. He hastily added, "Of course, you don't need to. You might have other plans."

She twirled a piece of hair nervously around her finger as she responded, taking the seat he had indicated. "Actually, no. My plan was to be here with you right now."

Again he felt a little leap of his heart. He did not really know why she would even _want_ to get to know him. He knew his own reputation on campus for being completely cold and logical, lacking emotion of any kind. Abruptly he asked, "Why?"

She seemed a little taken aback at that and pursed her lips. "I...I don't really know. Maybe because I enjoyed our conversation last week? I don't have many friends."

His lips twisted slightly. "Well, I don't have _any_ friends. I don't go in for that sort of thing," he said a little wistfully. _Wistfully? What the hell?_ He didn't _want_ friends.

Apparently interpreting that note in his voice, Molly offered shyly, looking at him with large, coffee-coloured eyes that seemed to stare into his soul, "I'd be willing to be your friend - if you would let me."

And suddenly he found himself saying, totally against the cold, logical advice of his brain, "I'd like that."

He found himself talking with Molly about the things he was doing in his postgraduate course. With her interest in pathology, she was completely absorbed. She told him a little about herself, and what a shock it had been to learn of her father's cancer diagnosis. Sherlock, who usually was interested in nothing beyond his own studies, found he felt sorry for this young woman who was facing the prospect of losing her father at an early age.

They talked until it was time for the library to close, and suddenly, Sherlock found himself doing something very odd.

"If you would like some help with your studies, I'd be happy to assist you," he offered.

Molly looked at him and bit her lip. "You'd really be willing to help me?"

Sherlock shrugged nonchalantly. He suddenly felt as if he must get to know this young woman better. She was - _interesting_. "Why not? My course is very easy. I have plenty of spare time and I often suffer from boredom. Perhaps helping you would alleviate that somewhat."

"When are you available?" she asked, raising a hand to her hair and playing with it absently, as she had done earlier. _Obviously a nervous habit of hers_ , he reflected.

He leaned towards her slightly, looking at her intently. "As I said, I have no friends. I spend all my evenings in my flat, except for my Fridays in the library." On a sudden impulse he added, "If you want to come to my flat, I could offer you coffee or tea while I help you study."

Molly's hand stilled from twirling her hair, and instead, she folded her hands into her lap primly. "I'm not sure I should go to your flat. People might talk."

Sherlock was disappointed. For some reason he really wanted to get to know her away from the campus. "Nobody has to know," he pressed. "My flat is very close to campus, only a few minutes walk. Who would know? Of course, I'd walk you back there afterwards if it was dark."

She hesitated. He knew she was about to refuse, so he reached over and laid a hand over her clasped ones. "Didn't you say you wanted to be my friend? You could be my only friend." He tried to make his tone persuasive.

And she capitulated, just as he had hoped she would. "Alright. When...when should I come?"

He thought a moment. He decided it might be better if she came on a weeknight, when the campus didn't have as much foot traffic, so she would be less likely to be seen wandering off. "Monday? Or Tuesday?"

"I have a singing lesson on Mondays, so Tuesday would be better," she responded.

"You sing?" he asked in surprise. There was obviously more to Molly than met the eye.

She blushed slightly, as if embarrassed at divulging something so personal. "I've always loved singing. I've sung in church since I was little, but it isn't something I'd choose as a career. It's a difficult field to get into."

He only half heard her. She had said a very disturbing word - _church_. Sherlock didn't believe in God. He was a man of science. So much for them having a lot in common. He really hoped they wouldn't get into one of _those_ types of discussions. He blinked, trying to focus on what she had said.

"Sherlock?" Her tone was slightly confused.

His lips quirked. "Sorry, my mind tends to wander sometimes. So, you were saying Tuesday then?"

'Yes, if you are sure you want me to come." Her voice was uncertain, and he suspected she was wondering if she had bored him already, because he had drifted off into his mind palace during their conversation.

"I'm sure, Molly," he said hastily, wanting to reassure her that he was not at all bored by her. She looked a little flustered by the way he had said her name, almost as if he was caressing the syllables.

The librarian made some loud noises, clearing her throat, indicating that it was time for them to leave.

Sherlock and Molly collected their things. On the steps of the library, Sherlock gave Molly his address, which she quickly jotted down. "What time?"

"Depends if you want to have dinner first." She seemed startled by the suggestion, and he added quickly, "I mean, I could pick up some chips to eat for us. There's a fish and chip shop down the street. I love chips."

Her lips curved upwards and a dimple appeared in her cheek. Sherlock decided he really liked the way Molly smiled. "Alright then. I like chips as well. Is six too early?"

"Six is perfect. It's a date...I mean, I'll see you then," he said awkwardly. _Where had that come from?_ "Yes, our _study_ date, of course," he amended quickly, feeling his fingers twitch nervously. He did not want her to think he had any ulterior motives. _But do I?_ he wondered silently as she waved goodbye and he felt the blood pulsing in his veins. Sherlock had the distinct feeling she could turn his whole ordered world upside down if he allowed her to, and he wasn't sure whether that was something he wanted or not. Only time would tell, he supposed. He would just take things one day at a time and not try to overthink them.

It was a very pensive Sherlock who made his way home that night.

Over the weekend Sherlock decided he should tidy his flat. The first thing he needed to do was hide the evidence of his recreational drug habit. He did not want to spoil this budding friendship by putting her off. He had the feeling that she would not approve. If she knew he indulged in the habit, she'd probably be gone immediately. He also smoked at times, another thing he suspected she would not like. He got rid of all the evidence of both habits, putting the cigarette packet and syringes and the like into his bedside drawer. He felt no desire for the high or the stimulant, at least not right now. His thoughts seemed a little too occupied with the petite medical student.

Sherlock opened the windows to his flat, despite the weather being cold, in an effort to air out the stale smell of smoke. He wished he had confined his smoking to outside, but, well, he had not expected to invite anyone over to his flat. At least he had restricted his smoking to the small sitting room area.

Sherlock cleaned off his kitchen table as well so there would be room for them to study, dumping used coffee and tea cups into the sink and throwing away leftover Chinese take-away cartons. He was rather relieved he confined his experiments to the uni labs.

When he was done with the cleaning, Sherlock decided the flat had never looked more tidy. He wasn't sure why he was going to so much trouble for a girl, but he decided not to overthink it - after all, it was just a study date to help her out.

By the time Tuesday evening rolled around, Sherlock was feeling rather nervous. He had managed to keep the flat tidy, but he was sorely tempted to have a cigarette to calm his nerves. Perhaps he could sneak one while he went to the fish and chip shop? But no, he would end up smelling of it and that would not be good. At least the flat held no trace of the stale smoke smell, the way it had days earlier.

Sherlock made his way to the shop and picked up the chips, arriving back at his flat about ten minutes before Molly was due to arrive. He put the chips and two plates on the table, then started to pace.

At exactly six o'clock, his doorbell rang and once again, he felt his heart give a little jump of anticipation. He mentally counted to ten, so he wouldn't appear too anxious, then opened the door to the girl who stood there with a pile of books in her hands.

"Come in, Molly," he invited her, opening the door wider and she entered, a little hesitantly, with a shy smile.

She was _here_ , she had actually come.

* * *

 **Author's note:** I know this may seem a little unusual, to have Sherlock actually interested in getting to know Molly already, when most stories show him as being completely unmoved by sentiment at this age. My excuse is that it is the more enlightened, post Sherrinford and happily married Sherlock who is dreaming this whole story, so his perceptions of himself as a uni student have become more romanticized as a result, as is his desire to get to know Molly. But who knows? Maybe she really could have had an impact on his life in a positive way if they had met earlier.

So, what do you think? I'm absolutely open to hearing different opinions. It's fun to share our own perceptions of oSherlock in his younger years, because it is so open to interpretation. I hope you are enjoying this, probably more unusual interpretation.

The review box below is calling your name and begging you to share your thoughts too on what you think might happen between them. Guest reviews, even though I cannot respond to them personally, are always welcome as well.

Follows and favourites are always appreciated as well. If you like what you read and have fellow Sherlolly fans as friends, I'd be grateful if you would direct them to my stories!


	3. A Budding Friendship

Molly felt a little shy after she entered Sherlock's flat. She didn't really know what to expect, was completely out of her depth. She did know, however, that there was something intriguing about this boy - well, man. He was definitely not a boy. She had felt an instant attraction to him from the moment he had offered her his hanky. She'd only recognised him by the description her roommate Meena had given her. Meena had said he was a loner, impossibly handsome with dark, curly hair that fell over his forehead in a dreamy way, and he was six feet tall. Meena had also mentioned he was younger than his classmates, although she had forgotten that part until he said he was doing a postgraduate degree.

Molly looked over at the table, at which they were presumably to work. _Wow, he must be a neat freak,_ she thought. The table was spotless except for a cardboard container of chips and two plates, and the front room looked very neat and orderly.

"Would you like to sit down?" Sherlock asked, and she did so, setting her pile of books to one side of the table. "Help yourself to the chips," he said graciously, indicating the container. "Coffee? Tea? How do you take it?"

For someone who did not spend time with people socially, he knew how to act. _He must have had a good upbringing,_ mused Molly.

"A cup of tea would be lovely," she responded. Her heart fluttered a little, looking at his much-too-good-looking-for-her-comfort face.

He walked over to his kettle and switched it on, then opened a cupboard and took out a sugar bowl. He looked over at Molly. "How do you like your tea?"

"Oh!" she exclaimed, realising she should have told him that immediately. "White with two sugars, please."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Aren't you already sweet enough?" he quipped, then looked embarrassed. He busied himself taking two tea cups out of another cupboard as he said, "I'm sorry. That was a terrible thing to say. Like I said, I don't have any friends, that's probably why." He grimaced. "I...don't know how to act around people."

"I wasn't offended," Molly responded with a reassuring smile. _In fact,_ she thought silently, _it was a rather nice thing to say._ It almost felt as if he was flirting with her.

Once he had made the tea, Sherlock brought the cups over and sat beside her. "You didn't take any chips yet," he observed.

She coloured slightly. "I was waiting until you were sitting as well. It would be rude to start eating when you were still getting the tea."

His brow furrowed. "Is that the societal norm, to wait for your companion before you eat?"

Molly titled her head slightly. That was a rather unusual question. "I can't speak for anyone else, but personally I wouldn't feel right just tucking into the food someone else had bought before they had a chance to eat any of it themselves."

Sherlock seemed to consider that, then nodded. "Fair point." He grabbed a handful of chips from the container and placed them on a plate, and Molly did the same. Molly then pulled the plate towards herself.

They ate the chips and drank their tea quietly. Molly peeped over at Sherlock several times through her lashes, and each time, he was looking at her, almost in puzzlement, as if she intrigued him. She wondered what he thought of her. Did he feel an attraction to her as well?

"So, where would you like to start?" Sherlock inquired once they had finished their meal and he had taken their empty plates to the sink. He indicated the volumes which she had deposited on the table.

Molly selected one at random. They were all pretty heavy duty textbooks so any assistance he could provide would be welcome. Besides, she was just enjoying being close to him. He wore some kind of aftershave or cologne with a citrus scent that she liked a lot. Actually, she hoped she would be able to concentrate enough on studying. Molly had the feeling Sherlock could easily be a distraction for her.

Molly opened the textbook to the current chapter she was going through and they spent two hours together. Even when there was something Sherlock had not encountered before, he could skim the explanation in the textbook and then make it easy for Molly to understand. "You're really good at this," she remarked. "Tutoring, I mean."

He looked surprised. "I am? All I do is enter the facts about something in my head, then break it down into simpler terms."

Molly smiled at that. He'd be a good teacher, although she suspected his gifts would be better served in practical usage. "That's what being a tutor is. I really should be paying you."

He returned her smile with one of his own and she looked at his full lips, thinking about how sensual they were, wondering what it would be like to trace a finger over them, even perhaps kiss him. She forced herself to concentrate on what he was saying. "I am being well compensated by getting practice at speaking with a woman. Besides, I'm sure you'd figure things out yourself, it might just take a few extra minutes."

 _He thinks of me as a woman then, not a girl, that is something,_ she thought, quite pleased by the notion. _Should I tell him I won't be eighteen until March?_ Then she decided it wasn't necessary. Her birthday was only a couple months away.

When she reached to turn a page in one of her textbooks, her hand accidentally touched his and she had to fight the urge to snatch her hand back, because a tingle went through her. His hands were so large too, with long fingers. He'd make a wonderful piano player with those long fingers.

When they had done enough studying, Molly figured she should leave, but Sherlock prevented her from standing by placing a hand firmly on her shoulder. "Seeing as we spent two hours studying, we should spend at least some time learning how to be friends."

Molly felt extremely aware of the man whose hand rested on her shoulder, although she tried to act casual. "I'm not really sure how you go about learning to be friends, Sherlock. Spending time together is the first step. I suppose we could learn a bit about each other?"

Sherlock considered her words, then released his hand from her shoulder and stood himself. "Should we perhaps go somewhere more comfortable, rather than sit at the table?"

Molly hesitated. She wasn't particularly versed in the social niceties either. _Well, the sofa would be more comfortable than a chair,_ she supposed, and stood as well.

Molly went over to the sofa and sat straight, with her hands held primly in her lap. She decided to start, once Sherlock had seated himself next to her. Their legs we almost touching and once again, she felt very aware of him, knowing that her attraction for him was still growing.

"I noticed you have very long fingers. Do you by chance play the piano?"

Sherlock looked at his hands, almost as if he had never been aware of their size before, then looked at her. "No. I play the violin though. How about you?"

He'd said it so casually. She was quite impressed. "Um, I do play some piano, but learned to play chords mostly. That helps when I sing so I can accompany myself. I read the guitar chords written above the music. Well, except for classical music which has no guitar chords." She stopped, wondering if she had been talking too much.

Fortunately, Sherlock didn't seem to have noticed she was prattling on nervously. Instead, his face had a rather amused smile. "Maybe I'll get to hear you sometime."

A smile played at the corners of her own mouth. He was already talking as if their budding friendship would continue into the foreseeable future. "Maybe. Do you have your violin here?"

Sherlock shook his head. "No, I keep my Stradi...I mean my violin in Sussex, at my parents' house."

He'd said Strad...that had to mean... "You have a Stradivarius violin?"

He flushed slightly. "I do. My parents gave it to me for Christmas one year. Stupid, made up holiday."

"Christmas is not a stupid, made up holiday," Molly said, a little indignantly. "It's the time of year we celebrate the birth of Christ, thus the name _Christmas_."

He looked a little taken aback at her outburst. "Sorry, Sorry. Now you know why I don't have friends. I tend to just say what I think."

Molly shook her head sadly. "I'm sorry you feel the way you do about Christmas. Why do you dislike it?"

Sherlock furrowed his brow and pursed his lips. "I don't know really. Maybe because I don't like spending time with my family? I don't really get along with my brother. He's seven years older than me and loves to say he's the smart one."

Molly arched an eyebrow at him. "You're doing a postgraduate degree, and you are how old?"

"I'll be twenty-one soon," he responded, seeming a little puzzled at her question.

Molly rolled her eyes and clarified her reasoning behind the question. "You are two years younger than anyone else doing a postgraduate course. I'd hardly say your brother is the smart one, then."

"Oh, but he is," insisted Sherlock earnestly. "He works for the British government, you know."

"So, by his standards, he's the smart one, By anyone else's, including mine, you are obviously brilliant." She spoke sincerely. _It was strange, had his brother cast such a shadow over him that he didn't understand how intelligent he was?_ she wondered.

"Well, thank you." Abruptly he said, startling her by returning to their previous conversation, "You think I have long fingers? Let's compare our hands."

Molly bit her lip nervously. Just that brush of his hand earlier had made her skin tingle. What would pressing her hand to his do? "No, that's okay," she said hastily. "I know mine are small."

"They can't be that small, if you play piano," he argued. "Come on Molly, let me see your hand."

Slowly, hesitantly, she turned to face him and lifted her right hand.

Sherlock put his left hand up against hers, and she caught her breath. His hand was so much bigger than hers and so warm against her rather cold one. She felt that same tingle run through her at the touch.

He pulled his hand away almost immediately. "Okay, you're right, my hand is substantially larger than yours. Are you feeling cold?"

"No, my hands are always rather cold though." She gave him an embarrassed smile.

Unexpectedly, he brought his hand back to hers, along with his other one, and placed them around hers.

 _Why is my heart beating fast all of a sudden?_ she wondered, swallowing.

He was just holding her hand, enveloping it in his own two hands. It felt nice, too nice really. This time she pulled away. "I...I think I should go now," she said, a little breathlessly.

"I'm sorry, did I over-step?" he asked, seemingly genuinely confused by her reaction. "I just thought I'd warm your hand a little."

Molly brushed at her hair nervously. "Maybe it's just me, but I don't think warming another person's hands is typically done between friends."

He raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"

She expelled a slow breath before responding. "Because...because it is too close to holding someone's hand."

 _Does he really not understand or am I the one who is too sensitive?_

Apparently he was not on the same page, because he said, with a crease between his brows, "But I wasn't holding your hand, I was warming it with mine, because yours was cold."

Molly raised her hands in defeat. It wasn't important anyway, except for the fact that she was affected by his touch. If it had been anyone else, she would most likely not have thought twice about someone warming her hand. "Never mind, Sherlock, I need to go now anyway. It's dark already."

Sherlock stood and extended his hand to help her up. "I'll walk you back to campus."

Molly ignored his hand, not wishing to feel its warmth again. She might decide to keep hold of it. She stood unassisted and said, "That's okay, I can find my way."

'"No," he stubbornly insisted, clasping his hands behind his back when he saw she was not going to accept his offer of assistance to stand. "I said I would walk you back if it was dark, and that's what I am going to do." He flashed her a grin that made her heart skip a beat as he added, "I'll even carry your books until we reach the grounds." How could she refuse an offer like that? What was it about this man that affected her in a way she had never felt with any of her other male acquaintances?

She forced her thoughts back into some semblance of order. She had to admit, she would feel safer if she wasn't walking alone back to campus. "Alright then," she agreed, a little shyly. It would be strange walking with a man, though.

Sherlock locked his flat behind them once they exited, then he took her books.

 _What would it be like to actually hold his hand properly?_ she wondered, darting a glance at his disconcertingly handsome profile as they walked side by side back to the campus.

When they reached it, Sherlock turned his head towards her and asked, "So, are we going to do this again? Study, I mean? Learn to be friends?"

"Like a social experiment you mean?" she suggested, holding out her hands for her books, which he gave her.

He shrugged, clasping his now-free hands behind his back once again. "If you want to think of it that way. I do like experiments. Perhaps I should keep an accounting of our interactions then." He smiled suddenly at her, and even in the almost darkness, aside from the light of a street lamp, she could see he was teasing. To confirm it, he said, "Not an experiment, I'd just like to make a friend, be _your_ friend."

"Why me?" she asked curiously. She felt rather honoured that this intelligent man, who was known to be cold and aloof, would want to get to know her better.

He furrowed his brow, considering her question. "I don't know, Molly. Maybe because you looked vulnerable in the library when we met? Maybe because you are smarter than all those other women out there who would rather go out partying on weekends?" He seemed rather uncertain himself about his response.

she hugged her books closer to herself as she responded, "I'd like that too, to get to know you better."

His lips curved upwards. "So, same time and place next week? I'll provide dinner again, you provide the company."

"I could buy dinner next time," she offered.

Sherlock blew out a breath and he said in an amused tone, "Molly, I have a Stradivarius violin. My family has money. I think I can afford to buy dinner. You don't have a lot of extra money, do you?"

Molly blushed. Surely it wasn't right for him to be providing the tutoring _and_ the dinner. "Well, no, but-"

"No buts, I buy and that is that," he said firmly, cutting her off mid-sentence. "And on that note, I shall say goodnight." He hesitated, then held out his hand. "Goodnight, Molly."

She took it, feeling his hand envelop hers with its warmth. "Goodnight Sherlock."

Molly walked towards her dorm. She turned once, not really expecting him to be still there, but he was, watching her with an odd expression on his face. He was an enigma. She knew he was socially awkward, yet he seemed to be making an effort with her, to befriend her for some reason. She didn't know why, but she didn't really care. She liked him, probably a bit more than she should, for someone she barely knew. It seemed though that she would have the opportunity to get to know him better, and she couldn't help looking forward to it, even as she had the distinct feeling it might be a very bad idea if she fell for this man.

* * *

 **Author's note:** So, I decided to switch the POV here to Molly. Bear with me, I know it is Sherlock's dream, but let's just say he knows Molly so well that he can dream himself into her body as well ha ha. Besides, it's more interesting to hear the thoughts of both characters.

Do you like where the story is leading? Or do you find it hard to reconcile Sherlock's personality in this way? I guess I just like the idea of him allowing himself to get to know Molly, and actually making an effort.

How do you anticipate things progressing between them? Remember, I can't hear your thoughts, you need to actually put them in that review box! Supporting me by clicking the favourite and/or follow button would also be very much appreciated if you think this story is worthwhile. Favourites are particularly welcome because they go onto your profile and may lead to other people reading my love stories. One can never have too many readers!


	4. More Than He Expected

The following week, Sherlock felt nervous again before Molly arrived. He had bought some Chinese take-away and hoped she didn't mind variety. He had bought a beef dish, a chicken one and a pork one.

He didn't really understand this nervousness. He had a vague idea it might be because she did uncomfortable things to him, made him feel things he was not used to feeling. He liked spending time with her. Molly was very open. In Sherlock's limited experience with women, which basically extended only to the few brief words he had exchanged with girlfriends of various roommates, he had found women to be manipulative and false. One of the girlfriends had even made a pass at him, which disgusted him further.

No wonder he didn't like women. But Molly - she was different. And it frightened the hell out of him. What if she discovered his secrets - that he used drugs at times, that he smoked? (Although he had kept away from all that since he had met her.) Was he trying to impress her then?

Sherlock's mind palace was full of these confusing thoughts when he opened his flat door for the second time to her. She was carrying the pile of books again, and she seemed even more nervous than the previous week. He was uncomfortably aware of her - the scent of her hair, the hint of perfume or body lotion she wore, _vanilla, with a hint of jasmine perhaps?_ She smelled rather - intoxicating.

He suddenly realised he had been standing there for several seconds, lost in thought, and she was still in the doorway.

"Um, sorry, Molly," he apologised, "please come in."

She did so, putting her books on the table, then obviously noticing the cardboard containers on the table. "Oh, did you get Chinese? I haven't had that in ages."

"I didn't know what you might like so I bought three different kinds," he responded with a slight smile. He had already put plates on the table, and spoons to scoop out the food and the rice. "Help yourself and I'll make you some tea, unless you prefer something else."

"Tea would be fine. I...I think I'll wait for you, before I take any food." He could hear the nervousness in her voice.

 _Does she feel that palpable tension between us too then?_ he wondered, heading for the kitchenette.

Sherlock busied himself making the tea. Thankfully he remembered she liked two sugars and milk, just as he himself did. Coffee of course was a different story, that, he preferred black and he wondered briefly how Moly liked hers. Perhaps another time he would ask.

He placed the tea on the table and remarked, "There are chopsticks if you want them."

"Um, I think I'll stick to using a fork," said Molly hastily, flashing him a dimpled smile, "I'm not the best at using chopsticks."

Sherlock filed that away in his mind palace. He got his food, noting that Molly took a little of each kind. She was not fussy then, nor was she an over-eater. She was a bit too perfect really. He filed that away also.

 _Why doesn't she have some kind of flaw I can use to distance myself from her?_ he wondered, as he deftly used chopsticks to eat his own food.

Then he remembered her flaw - she talked about church. Apparently she was religious, that was definitely a big flaw in his book. He'd have to remember that if he found himself getting too close.

After eating, they settled down to work. Sherlock used part of his brain to help Molly with the concepts she was studying, while the other part of his brain studied her - her soft brown hair, those small hands and limpid brown eyes.

At one point, she was making notes and dropped her pencil. When they both reached for it, their hands touched briefly and that tiny touch was enough to make him catch his breath. He'd shaken her hand the previous week, he'd even compared hand sizes, so why did this feel different?

Realisation hit him. It was because Molly was here, inside his flat, his personal space and he wanted to do something else. He really wanted to kiss her. He leaned into her, and she leaned into him at the same time as he closed his eyes.

"Sherlock?" Her voice cut into his daydream. "Are you ok? You look kind of...out of it."

"Er, sorry," he said, feeling somewhat flustered at the direction his mind had been taking him. "As I've told you before, my mind sometimes tends to wander."

"We should stop now anyway, it has been about two hours again." She gave him a tentative smile. "Thank you for the tutoring, and the food."

"Will you stay a little longer, like last week?" he asked, studying her face.

Molly bit her lip. "I don't think that's a good idea, Sherlock. I think we should probably just keep things on a student-tutor basis."

Sherlock frowned at that. "You said you'd be my friend."

 _Why is she pushing me away?_ he wondered, feeling somewhat irritated at her reticence.

Her honest answer surprised him. "Because...because I'm scared, Sherlock."

"Why?" he pressed, feeling somewhat confused. Had he done something to make her feel frightened? He didn't think so.

Molly expelled a slow breath. "I know you want to be friends, but I'm feeling too attracted to you. I don't want to start projecting feelings on you that you can't return. I'd rather just keep it casual and not put any pressure on this relationship. Maybe I just need to pay you for your help and leave it at that." His heart sank at her next words. "On second thought, I...I don't think just being friends is going to work for me. I'm sorry, Sherlock." She blushed.

Sherlock was feeling even more confused now. She was probably right, he was not an emotional man and he certainly wasn't interested in a romantic relationship with her, even if he did want to kiss her. He was just curious about what it would be like to kiss someone and she seemed like a good test subject for it. But it wouldn't be fair to her. Nevertheless, he did like spending time with her, despite himself. She was clever and interesting to him.

It was her decision though, and he supposed she was right, if she was uncomfortable, he needed to accept that and let her go. "I don't really know what to say," he said finally. "I do like spending time with you, but I understand. I'm not boyfriend material and I don't want to give you false hope."

She nodded, and he could see tears sparkling on her lashes, and an errant one sliding down her cheek. He longed to wipe it away and hold her, but he knew that would make things just more awkward between them.

"Let me pay you for your time, and for the food," she told him, pulling out her purse.

"No," he said sharply. "I don't need your money. I liked getting to know you a little. Maybe we'll see each other around on campus. Don't think too badly of me, Molly. I'm sorry too. You deserve someone who will appreciate you."

He saw another stray tear slide down her cheek, but pretended to not notice. He would have asked to walk her back to campus, it was dark already, but it was probably not a good idea. Instead he stood and collected her jacket, handing it to her and she put it on. Then he opened the front door for her and said, "Goodbye Molly."

"Goodbye Sherlock." His heart constricted a little at her words. It seemed so final.

He closed the door behind her and waited exactly one minute until he opened the door again and silently tailed her back to the campus, to make sure she got there safely. He could see her shoulders heaving and he knew she was crying. She was crying over him and they didn't even have more than a basic relationship.

 _Why is she crying over me?_

He silently watched as she reached the campus and entered her dorm building.

 _Goodbye Molly,_ he thought again, and wondered why he felt a knot in the pit of his stomach. Was he feeling – _sentiment_?

Over the next few weeks, Sherlock's thoughts turned constantly towards Molly, wondering what she was doing, wondering if his tutoring had truly helped her. Easter holidays were fast approaching and most people would be returning to their homes for it. Sherlock's parents had invited him, of course, but he had no desire to sit in a church with them on Easter Sunday and pretend to believe in a God he thought of as a fictitious deity. Besides, he had started to smoke again and his parents would disapprove of his habit. Unfortunately, his birthday was coming up soon and his parents had requested he at least come home for it so they could give him a present - it was his 21st birthday coming up after all. He really didn't want to go, but Mycroft had informed him he would be sending a car for him, whether he wanted it or not, on the day before his birthday. Mycroft knew Sherlock would flatly refuse to come any earlier.

On the Friday of Easter weekend, Good Friday, _why was it called that anyway?_ he wondered, Sherlock was taking a walk. He felt restless and he had taken to smoking only outside of his flat since he'd had Molly there. He was having his nightly walk as he smoked, passing by a church that people were exiting in darkness. It was very odd, people coming out of an unlit church. He was somewhat shocked when he saw a figure descending the steps of the church, walking alone, unlike most of the people exiting - Molly.

She looked different, he thought, taking a drag of his cigarette and trying to determine what it was that had changed about her.

 _It's her hair,_ he decided. _She's had it cut to shoulder length and lightened._ He suddenly felt an urge to go to her, to talk to her. So he hastily dropped the cigarette and stubbed it out with his shoe. Her shoulders were hunched and she was walking slowly in his direction, looking downwards, rather than straight ahead.

He approached her with a hesitant, "Molly?"

She looked up at him. Her eyes looked dull and lifeless. "Hi, Sherlock. You stink."

He wondered for a moment what she meant, then realised - he undoubtedly reeked of cigarette smoke.

"Thanks for your honesty." he said coolly, brushing an invisible piece of lint from his coat.

She blushed. "Sorry, automatic reaction. I really hate cigarettes, and I hate the smell of smoke on clothing." He suddenly felt self-conscious. It was probably time he quit again. He'd managed it during the short time he'd been helping Molly. Her eyes narrowed. "I didn't know you were a smoker."

He didn't want to tell her the truth, that he had only quit because he wanted to not draw her censure. That was definitely something he did not want to think about too much, his motivation for quitting in the first place. "Er, I gave it up for awhile, but started again recently due to the stress of exams," he lied.

She looked at him a little suspiciously, but didn't offer her thoughts. He fell into step beside her as she moved away from the church. "So, how have you been?"

She shrugged, not looking at him. "Fine, I guess."

"You don't look fine," he asserted and she stopped walking to look up at him. "How would you know, Sherlock?"

"The set of your shoulders, the way your eyes look," he explained. He could have added, "You've cut your hair and lightened it, obviously in an attempt to distract yourself from something," but he didn't.

unfortunately, even the small amount of information he had imparted was enough to annoy her. "So you are deducing things about me, like I'm a case you want to solve? I guess that makes sense." Her tone was a bit hard.

His lips tightened. "Molly, if you are upset about the way things ended so abruptly with us, may I remind you it was your decision to discontinue seeing me. I still wanted to be your friend."

"Now you are deducing my feelings as well?" He couldn't help feeling a little hurt at the bitter note in her voice. This had obviously been a mistake.

"I'm sorry I bothered you. Take care, Molly." He turned to move away, but a hand on his arm stopped him.

"No, Sherlock, don't go. I'm the one who needs to apologise. You were just being nice and I overreacted. It has been a tough day and I took it out on you."

He turned back towards her and looked searchingly into her eyes. "Do you want to talk about it? I'd suggest a coffee shop, but nothing is open today. I can make you a coffee or tea though at my place."

She sighed. "Why not? I have nothing else to do, and some company would be nice."

They walked to Sherlock's flat and he took off his Belstaff, hanging it on the coat rack near the door. Hopefully he didn't smell of smoke with the coat off. "Can I take your jacket?" he asked.

"Okay," she responded, and he helped her remove it.

"Take a seat," he invited, indicating the sofa. "Coffee or tea?"

"Tea please," she said dully. _Something very unpleasant is definitely going on with her,_ he thought.

Once the tea was made, he placed their cups on the coffee table in front of the sofa. "What's wrong?" He had a fleeting thought that perhaps it had something to do with her father. Perhaps his condition had deteriorated. It had been a couple of months, after all. He could have tried to show how smart he was by acting as if he knew why she was unhappy, but this was not the time to be showing off.

He was utterly unprepared when her tears came.

He hesitated, unsure of what to do, then instinctively, he held out his arms.

She leaned into him, her head on his shoulder, and he felt the wetness seeping through his shirt. His arms came around her and he held her close, letting her cry with silent, heaving sobs, until he felt the tension in her body ease. Finally she spoke. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. It has been an awful day."

"Why don't you tell me about it?" he invited gently. An odd sense of protectiveness came over him. Seeing Molly unhappy definitely did not sit well with him.

"It's my dad. He's going downhill fast. My mother is falling apart and I have to be the strong one." She let out a shuddering breath. "It's just hard. I can't talk to my roommate about it. She is not into sad stories, and I'm not close enough with anyone else to tell them what's going on." Oh, so he had been right about her father, although he had not deduced there were also problems with her mother. He always missed something.

His hands moved gently along her back, in a soothing motion. He was surprised by how good it felt holding her, smelling that same scent in her hair and on her skin. "I'm sorry you are going through that. Is there anything I can do to make it better?"

Molly pulled away from him slightly. "Sometimes I just want to get away from it all, to forget, you know?"

Suddenly Sherlock thought of something. "How about doing something fun that will distract you, at least for a few hours?"

She looked up at him questioningly. "What do you have in mind?"

"I heard about an Easter funfair at Finsbury Park in Islington. Would that be a good enough distraction?" He held his breath, waiting for her reaction. There was a funny feeling in his stomach, a sense of anticipation as he waited.

Molly gave him a surprised look. "You'd really go with me to a funfair, just to cheer me up?"

Sherlock shrugged casually. "Isn't that what friends do - cheer one another up?"

Her brow furrowed. "But I never gave us a chance to be friends. I pushed you away."

A smile tugged at the corners of Sherlock's mouth. "It's embarrassing to admit, but you are more like a friend to me than anyone else I know. Not including this evening, I've seen you on four occasions; that's approximately three more than anyone else I've had social interaction with. By my definition, that makes us friends."

She let out a little gurgle of laughter. "You're one strange man, Sherlock Holmes."

"I shall take that as a compliment," he answered with a slightly lopsided smile. "So, what do you say? Do you want to go to the funfair tomorrow?"

Molly looked thoughtful. "I have to visit my dad, but I can see him in the morning."

"Why don't you meet me here at one o'clock and we'll take the Tube?" Sherlock suggested, feeling once again that queer sense of anticipation.

"Are you sure, Sherlock?" Her coffee coloured eyes searched his turquoise ones.

He took her right hand in his left. He'd forgotten how small her hands were. He felt an odd sensation travel through him, like a slight charge of electricity. "I'm sure."

This time she didn't pull her hand away at the contact. "Alright, I'll be here."

They drank their tea then, and afterwards Molly said, "I should go."

"I'll walk you back to your dorm," Sherlock stated firmly.

This time she did not argue, but merely nodded her acceptance.

He walked her back to campus. Before she left him, he said, "I won't smoke either, okay?"

"Thank you. I appreciate it." She smiled at him and went to her dorm. Sherlock watched her until she entered, then walked home slowly, lost in thought. There was definitely something about Molly that he liked, still liked. Seeing her tonight had been a fortuitous accident. If he believed in karma, or God, which he didn't, he would have said it was obviously meant to be. He was looking forward to their next meeting. He didn't even feel the urge to smoke as he walked, but instead, found himself composing a delightful violin tune in his head that expressed how he was feeling.

* * *

 **Author's note:** So here we get to see some conflict as Molly recognizes her attraction to Sherlock, breaks things off, and then they re-connect later. We also get to see Sherlock fall back into bad habits in the meantime.

I hope you enjoyed seeing Sherlock once again struggling with conflicting feelings for her. It certainly seems Molly has gotten under his skin, don't you think?

By the way, there really are Easter funfairs at Finsbury Park. I researched it.

Thoughts on this chapter and what you think will happen next?


	5. Going to a Funfair

As Molly got ready for her "date" with Sherlock, several thoughts ran through her mind. Date was probably not the right term, but they would be spending time together alone so she wasn't really sure how else to think of it. _A friendly date_ , she decided.

She was worried of course. The time away from Sherlock had not helped her get over these feelings she was having for him. In fact, seeing him again had made her realise she had missed him. Although they had not known each other long, there was something magnetic about the man which she couldn't explain.

She was surprised that he even still wanted to be friends, after she had broken off their budding friendship so precipitously. She had just been afraid of wanting more from him than he was willing to give, and of having her heart broken as a result.

Yet here she was, planning on spending a day with him. Her feelings were a mixture of both excitement and dread. She just couldn't refuse him though, after he had been so kind to her, comforting her. He was making the effort and she owed him the chance to give their friendship another go.

Molly's roommate Meena watched with interest as she applied a little makeup. "So you're going out with him again, then?" she questioned. "What's your secret? You must be someone special to him if he is so willing to see you again when he ignores everyone else. Maybe you had better put on that silly little purity ring of yours again to make sure he doesn't try anything with you."

Molly flushed slightly and turned to her roommate. She honestly didn't know why he had singled her out either. "He's not like that, Meena, and you know it. We were only just getting to know one another when I pulled back last time because I was worried about being too attracted to him."

Meena laughed. "In that case, you had better wear that ring so that you can remind _yourself_ of your own religious standards."

Molly glared at Meena then. " _You're_ one of the reasons I stopped wearing it in the first place, Meena," she said curtly. "Just because I have different values than you do, doesn't mean I should be mocked for them. At least I haven't had to deal with a pregnancy scare already," she added, putting her hands on her hips. Meena was a good roommate, for the most part, but she definitely did not share Molly's beliefs, and she did not understand them at all. Molly, in her turn, did not really understand Meena's own enjoyment of going from one sexual relationship to another, but she at least didn't sit in judgment on her friend. It was Meena's choice, and she would have to deal with the consequences of her decisions, if there were any.

Meena threw up her hands in a placating gesture. "You're right, Molly. I'm sorry. I hope you have a lovely time with Sherlock today. God knows, he's lucky someone like you is even willing to give him the time of day."

Molly smiled slightly at the compliment. "I know you don't like him very much because he turned you down last year, but he can actually be quite nice. That's why I decided to give being friends another go."

"Just be careful, Molly. I have a feeling he's already got under your skin," cautioned her roommate.

"I will," she promised.

Molly dressed herself carefully in a bright orange top, adding a double strand black beaded necklace to accessorise it. She couldn't help hoping Sherlock would admire it, well, that was, if he had the chance to even see it. It would probably be too cold outside to take off her coat at the funfair.

She did contemplate putting on the purity ring, as Meena had suggested, but decided it was not necessary. It would undoubtedly just prompt awkward questions from him, and it wasn't as if things were likely to elevate to any kind of level where she would be worried about compromising her values.

She did hope that Sherlock would keep his word and not smoke. There was nothing more off-putting than that horrible smell in the air and on a person's clothes. It was funny she had not noticed the smell on him before yesterday.

Just before one o'clock, Molly found herself at the door to Sherlock's flat. Before she could knock, he opened it, as if he had been watching for her.

"Hi Molly. I wasn't sure you'd come." As usual, Sherlock was looking devastatingly handsome in a suit with a white shirt beneath. She had never met a uni student before who wore suits, but it seemed to fit him. It would be hard to imagine Sherlock in a T-shirt and jeans, looking casual. He just didn't seem the casual type.

Molly sniffed the air experimentally. No smell of smoke, he had evidently been serious about what he had said about not smoking. She smiled at him. "I keep my promises."

"If you're ready to go, I'll just lock up and we can be on our way," he told her.

"That's fine," she answered, feeling anticipation at the afternoon ahead.

Sherlock put on his coat, locked his flat door and they made their way to the train station. "Did you eat lunch?" he asked, giving her a sideways glance.

Molly nodded. "I had a sandwich."

"So what would you like to do when we get there, Molly?" he questioned, glancing at her again with his intense blue-green eyes.

She smiled shyly. "You invited me, Sherlock. I'll do whatever you want."

After the Tube ride to Finsbury Park, they entered the grounds. There were several rides, including bumper cars, many sideshows and food stands.

Molly's eyes were immediately drawn to the Ferris wheel. "I've always wanted to ride a Ferris wheel," she exclaimed. "I don't know why, but it has always appealed to me, the idea of being up high in the open air."

"As a matter of fact, I have not been on one either," admitted Sherlock. Then his lips turned upwards slightly. "Actually, I haven't been to a funfair for many years."

Molly looked at him in surprise. "Really? Then I'm very grateful you made the effort to do this, just to make me feel better."

He smiled at her properly then, and she felt her heartbeat quicken, he had such a lovely smile too, and the most incredible dimple. "I'm trying to be your friend. It is a new experience for me." Then his expression sobered. "So, how was your visit with your father?"

They had been walking nowhere in particular and she stopped. "It was...hard. My mum was there and she could not stop crying. I was trying to be strong. My dad too." She blinked back tears. She was not going to cry again.

Sherlock hesitatingly put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed before letting go. "I'm sorry. I should not have asked." He looked disappointed with himself.

"It was sweet of you to do it. That is a friend sort of thing to ask, and you did it without thinking," Molly assured him.

"I did?" He brightened at that. "Well, that is good then. How about we have some fun? Should we hit the sideshows?"

She shrugged. "If you want to waste your money. I'm convinced those things are rigged."

The weather was a bit chilly, so there weren't an enormous amount of people at the park. Molly herself didn't really enjoy the cold, although Sherlock seemed quite comfortable in his, _what was it?_ That's right, his Belstaff. She liked the way he kept the collar up and the scarf around his neck looked nice too. Molly wished she had worn gloves. She blew surreptitiously into her hands as Sherlock tried his luck at several different booths with no success. He finally gave up in disgust and turned to her. "You're right. These things are rigged."

"Can we go on the Ferris wheel now?" asked Molly hopefully, clasping her fingers together for warmth.

Sherlock looked at her thoughtfully before he spoke. "Why don't we leave that till last? That way it will be something to remember."

"Okay," Molly agreed, then ventured another suggestion. "How about the bumper cars then?"

"I'm game," Sherlock responded and they headed in that direction.

Molly felt like a kid again when they rode the bumper cars, they were the oldest people riding them. She was a little cross, however, when it seemed Sherlock was deliberately trying to steer into her path.

When they got off the ride, she punched his arm playfully. "I know you were steering into me on purpose."

"No, I wasn't," he protested. "I was just trying to get used to the controls. They don't operate the same way as a real car." She saw a glint of mischief in his eyes.

"Why don't I believe you?" she asked, raising an eyebrow and folding her arms.

He grinned wickedly. "I have no idea." Molly had to admit, she was really enjoying this side of Sherlock. He seemed to have let his guard down, and she felt even more that she could easily fall for him, especially when he was like this.

Without thinking, she grabbed his hand and led him to another ride. They went on several, but both agreed that the ones that spun around were not so much fun.

"Some of those made me queasy," declared Molly, grimacing slightly.

"I agree. Drop Zone wasn't so bad though," Sherlock noted, looking up at the rather intimidating ride nearby.

Molly turned her gaze towards it as well. "Yeah, I liked that, although my stomach dropped on that too, but it didn't make me feel sick at least, and it was over pretty fast."

"Do you want to go on it again?" Sherlock ventured, with the hint of a smile. He was obviously enjoying himself too, and Molly was glad.

"Why not?" Molly smiled at him. She hadn't expected to feel this good after the difficult morning she'd had. Sherlock was being the friend she needed at that moment, without there being any romantic tension between them.

"Hungry?" Sherlock enquired, after a couple hours of continued roaming of the funfair.

Molly shrugged. "Not really. But I guess I could use a drink and maybe some candy floss." Then her eyes alighted on something she hadn't seen before. It was a photo booth. "Wait, there's a photo booth, we must mark this auspicious occasion with photos," she declared, tugging at his hand, and he followed her.

They waited for the couple who were in the photo booth to emerge, flushed and beaming, and Molly felt a tug at her heart. If only things could be like that for Sherlock and herself, she thought, then tried to dismiss the notion as ridiculous. Sherlock was not interested in anything more than friendship. She hastily slid off her jacket, not wishing it to be in the photo. "Take off your coat and scarf, too," she told Sherlock, and he complied. Her breath caught. Why was he so distracting? She saw the mole where his neck was exposed, with his shirt being unbuttoned as usual at the top, and wished she had the nerve to touch it.

Molly had to giggle at the result of the photos. It was obvious Sherlock wasn't used to smiling, with that rather surprised yet genuine smile, but she loved the photos anyway. It would be a special memory she would always treasure.

Carefully she separated two from the strip and handed them to Sherlock. "Two for you, two for me. Now we will always remember today," she informed him with a grin. He nodded and put his two photos carefully into his wallet. Then Molly said, "Now, let's get that drink and candy floss."

"As you wish," Sherlock responded, pulling his coat back on and knotting his scarf even as Molly put her jacket back on.

She gave him an astonished look as they began walking. "Oh my goodness, Sherlock, don't tell me you've seen _The Princess Bride_?"

He groaned. "Don't tell anyone. My roommate last year forced me to watch it. I mean, a woman named Buttercup? And the most beautiful woman in the whole world as well? She doesn't hold a candle to you-" he stopped suddenly and looked highly embarrassed. "Sorry, sorry," he muttered. "That was totally not an appropriate thing to say."

Molly fixed on the part of his previous statement that had stood out to her. "You think I'm prettier than Buttercup?"

He flushed even more. "What do I know?" he hedged. "I don't know what men typically like in a woman. I have no practical experience whatsoever in that department."'

Despite his words, Molly couldn't help feeling a little pleased. He thought she was attractive. He thought she was prettier than Buttercup. It was a good feeling to know he was not completely unaffected by her, when her attraction for him was so strong.

They had stopped walking and people were grumbling, because they were in the way of the line for food.

"Look, there's a bench here. Let's sit down," suggested Molly, motioning towards it.

Sherlock still looked very uncomfortable after what he had said, but followed her to the bench and sat beside her.

Molly could feel the wind all of a sudden, biting through her. Staying in one place long was not a good idea when it was cold outside. She noticed the way his expression had become guarded as she shifted slightly to make it easier to look at him. Impatiently she brushed away a stray piece of hair the wind had blown in her face. "Sherlock, everyone has different ideas on what they like. Some men like tall, leggy model type women. Others like their women with a bit more meat on them. Some guys like women with one hair colour over another. There's no set rule for what attracts a person to another one. Many times the attraction is one-sided, sometimes, if you're lucky, it goes both ways."

His eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at her. "Are you still attracted to me, Molly?"

Now it was her turn to blush. She turned away from him and looked into the distance. "I'm trying not to be, Sherlock. You even said yourself last time that you're not boyfriend material."

"I did, didn't I?" he said thoughtfully, then stood. "Well, let's get that drink and candy floss."

Molly stood as well, feeling somewhat deflated, he obviously had not changed his mind. It was foolish of her to get her hopes up. This man was such an enigma.

They sat back down on the bench with their drinks and the candy floss. Molly ate without really tasting the sugary sweetness. She was starting to feel very cold, and she couldn't help the involuntary shiver that passed through her. The sun was going down, not that there had been much sun to begin with.

She was surprised when Sherlock stood and unbuttoned his coat, placing it around her shoulders. "Better?" She was amazed at the thoughtful gesture.

"Yes, but now you'll be cold," she pointed out.

He merely shrugged at that. "I'm fine."

He sat once again and they finished their drinks in silence. Despite the sweet gesture of Sherlock giving her his coat, she could feel him withdrawing into himself. When she asked if Sherlock wanted the rest of her candy floss since she didn't feel like eating it anymore, he declined politely. Suddenly she felt she just wanted to go home. It was as if the sun setting had cast a pall over their lovely day together.

With a little sigh, Molly tossed the remainder of the candy floss into a nearby bin. "I think we should just go home now," she said, struggling to keep the note of sadness out of her voice.

Things had been going so well. Why had they got onto the topic of feelings? That was what had caused this uncomfortable awkwardness between them.

She expected Sherlock to agree, but instead he said, "We're not leaving until we've been on the Ferris wheel. I told you we'd leave that till last." There was no warmth in his tone, it was merely a statement.

"Fine," she said, holding Sherlock's coat more closely about herself. It smelled like him. There was a vague hint of smoke still on it, but mostly it seemed to carry the scent of whatever citrus type aftershave he used and she liked it.

The guy tending the ride smirked at them, obviously thinking they were a couple. That didn't surprise her, especially as she had Sherlock's coat wrapped around her. There was no line for the Ferris wheel. People seemed drawn to more exciting rides than one that just went up and down slowly in a circle. "I'll give you two a nice long ride," he said, ushering them into one of the little carriages.

"That isn't necess-," began Sherlock, but the guy cut him off. "Just enjoy your time with your girl."

Molly sat in the one seat and Sherlock sat across from her. As the Ferris wheel began to move slowly, she realised Sherlock was staring at her intently.

Why was he staring at her that way? "What?" she demanded, a little self-consciously. "Is there some candy floss stuck to my nose?"

The wheel continued to move them slowly upwards as Sherlock said, "Yes, I think you have some stuck on your nose. Lean forward a bit and I'll get it. There is some stuck by your eye too. Close your eyes for a second so I can brush it off." He pulled out a hanky, just like the one he had given her to use all those weeks ago.

How had candy floss gotten so high up on her face? She supposed it could have happened when she was biting into the sugary treat. The Ferris wheel reached the top and stopped, presumably to let some people into the carriage below. Obediently she leaned forward and closed her eyes so Sherlock could wipe her face with his hanky. But he didn't.

Instead, she felt his warm breath on her face and then, most unexpectedly she felt a pair of warm lips against her own. Her mouth opened in a little "oh" of surprise. She kept her eyes closed, not daring to breathe. Sherlock Holmes was kissing her - he was really kissing her.

Blindly she reached out for him, feeling the pressure of his lips increase. _Oh, they feel so wonderful_ , she thought in bemusement.

A tingle ran through her as she steadied herself, holding his shoulders, and she felt his hands cupping either side of her face. She felt herself drowning in it, the feel of it, until suddenly the carriage lurched and the Ferris wheel began to move again.

Molly sprang back as colour bloomed on her cheeks. Her heart was beating unaccountably fast. Why had he done that, why had he kissed her like that? And how the heck did it feel so good when he claimed to not have any experience with girls?

Sherlock's face was flushed as well, and he seemed confused. He had a faraway look in his eyes, as if he was retreating into himself. When the ride stopped and it was time to get out, she had to tug at his hand to get him to leave the carriage. "Sherlock," she hissed, "you need to get out, now." She tugged again, and he finally responded, although his eyes remained unfocussed. As they retreated, the guy who had let them on the ride called, "I hope you enjoyed your extended stay at the top of the Ferris wheel."

Molly barely registered the comment. She hadn't even noticed the ride, after all that anticipation. She had been too engrossed in Sherlock and what had just happened. "Let's go, Sherlock," she said, as if she were speaking to a small child.

 _What's wrong with him? Why won't he talk to me?_ she wondered, rather desperately.

They left the funfair behind and made their way to the train station. On the Tube ride home, Sherlock remained silent. Molly also said nothing. She was thinking about the kiss. Why had he done it? After everything he had said about wanting to be friends, that was definitely not something people who were just friends did. Was she going to have to explain it to him? Was he really that ignorant of the parameters of social etiquette?"

At the train station, they got off and walked back to Sherlock's flat. Moly probably should have just gone home, to her dorm, but she knew they needed to talk.

As soon as Sherlock closed the door behind them, Molly removed Sherlock's coat from her shoulders and hung it up as he pulled off his scarf. Without saying anything, he reached to help her off with her jacket.

It was only when he sat on the sofa, motioning for her to sit beside him, that he finally spoke. His voice was deep and laced with regret. "I'm sorry, Molly. I...I don't know what came over me, and I have no excuse."

"Sherlock," she asked carefully, "was there really candy floss on my face and you meant to wipe it off, and then you accidentally kissed me, or was it intentional?" She held her breath, waiting for his response.

Sherlock flushed and looked down. It was several seconds before he spoke, in that same deep voice that made her body shiver with anticipation. "I knew what I was doing. I lied, because I didn't want you to pull away from me. I wanted to know what it was like to kiss a woman."

She felt anger course through her. "So you were using me as an experiment? To just see what it felt like to kiss a woman? And was your experiment successful? Was this your intention when you asked me to the funfair?" Her voice rose as she spoke and she could feel the burn of tears fighting to make their way to the surface.

"No, Molly. It wasn't like that." He raked a hand through his hair, obviously searching for the right words. "I just had this urge to do it, to kiss you. Was it so terrible?"

She had to be honest with him. "Actually it was the most incredible kiss I've ever had, not that I've had a lot myself, but that is beside the point. You crossed the friendship line and now I'm confused about what you want." Her voice was shaking now, and the tears were threatening to overwhelm her. "Sherlock, answer me this - do you want friendship or do you want more?"

His brows drew together in consternation. "I...I don't know," he said helplessly.

Molly's hands balled into fists. He didn't even know what he wanted. "Well, there's your answer then, because if you were ready for a relationship, you'd know. Thank you for making the effort, but I'm not a rag doll. I can't deal with this as well as what is going on with my dad." Her voice broke on the last word, but she forced herself to continue in a voice that was choked with tears. "I need some stability in my life right now, and I have the feeling things with you would be volatile, unpredictable. So I'm going to just say goodbye now, and save us the trouble of doing it later. I'm sorry too, Sherlock. I thought I could deal with being your friend, but I can't deal with these mixed signals I'm getting from you." She stood as she spoke.

Sherlock lifted a hand to her briefly then dropped it again, as if realising her mind was made up.

Molly couldn't stop her lower lip from quivering as she said the next words. "Thank you for taking me today. I did have fun for most of it. I wish you all the best for your future. Maybe someday we'll see each other again. I'm sure you'll do just great in your future." She reached for her jacket and put it on. "Goodbye Sherlock."

He stood and silently opened the door for her and she passed through it. "I'm so sorry," he muttered again as she stepped into the street.

She walked home in the darkness. If it was hard the last time she had left after saying goodbye, this time was ten times worse. Her body was wracked with agonising sobs. Why had she let herself be attracted to him again? She should have told him no. If one kiss could do that to her, just think what he could have done to her if he had really made an effort. She was frightened at the thought that this man had power over her, made her feel things she felt she was too young to deal with.

Molly had the idea he was following her, to make sure she got home safely, and she was slightly comforted, although she did not look around.

She entered her dorm building, trudged up the stairs to her shared dorm room and flung herself on her bed. Thank God Meena had gone out for the evening and was not there to see her despair. She did not need an "I told you so." She could never see Sherlock again, that was all there was to it. Then she cried herself to sleep.

* * *

 **Author's note:** I loved writing this chapter (well, not so much the heartbreak at the end), because it contains my very favourite thing, the first kiss between Sherlock and Molly. What did you think about that kiss on the Ferris wheel? Have you ever read about a first kiss happening there before? I really wanted readers to get the opportunity to see that Sherlock was truly making an effort to enjoy himself with Molly, but that his inner demons got the best of him in the end.

There are two scenes in this chapter that did not exist in my initial writing of this chapter when I wrote it at the end of March last year, which is why the chapter is longer than usual. The whole photo booth scene was prompted due to my cover image for the story which I was given permission to use by **kstewmanipulation** on Tumblr.

Secondly, one of my wonderful readers, **comp1mom** , made a suggestion that I add in something about Molly's purity ring, the existence of which I revealed in a recent diary chapter. Therefore, I added in the conversation between Meena and Molly as a result. I hope you enjoyed it.

I am always open to suggestions by my readers for ways in which I can enhance my story. Although the story has been complete for many months, it still requires revising and I am happy to add in extra things if I find a suggestion to be one which I can use. If you make a suggestion which I end up using in the story, I will give you credit for it as well. So please keep that in mind as you read. I consider myself an interactive author. I want to hear from people and continue improving my writing.


	6. Leaving the Past Behind

Sherlock watched quietly from a distance as Molly safely entered her dorm. That was it then. He'd been a total idiot. He could have kicked himself. He wasn't sure if he should have kicked himself for kissing her, or for the fact that he could not say whether he wanted a relationship with Molly or not.

Sherlock barely remembered what had happened after he kissed Molly. He had not been expecting to feel a huge wave of emotion rush over him. He hadn't thought a kiss could feel so good. He'd been curious about it and there was a magnetic pull he felt towards Molly, one he could not explain. After that sensational kiss though, everything had shut down. It was like his brain had overloaded on the sensation and short-circuited. He had only been vaguely aware of Molly leading him off the ride, out of the park, to the train station and then home.

He had only really come back to himself in the familiar confines of his flat. It was absolutely terrifying. Sherlock had experimented several times with drugs, but nothing produced anything like this feeling he had had when he kissed her. It was just as well she'd made the decision for him to break things off. He had the distinct feeling that this one woman had some kind of hold on him. He just was not ready to deal with it, might never be ready for it. _It's funny,_ he thought, somewhat sadly, _I never even learned her last name_.

 _Goodbye Molly_ , he thought, making a conscious effort to push thoughts of her deep into his mind palace so he could escape from her. Then over the next few weeks he deliberately escaped in another way, in a drug-induced haze that helped him to forget. He was careful to only use when he didn't have exams to study for. He passed top of his class of course, spent a few months afterwards in limbo, until his brother packed him off to rehab and he got clean. By that time, he had almost forgotten Molly. Almost, but not quite, because he could not bear to throw away those photos of a day where he had, for a short time at least, felt like a normal person with normal emotions, rather than the emotionally stunted young man he truly was.

* * *

Eleven years later, Sherlock had become somewhat of a fixture at St. Bart's. New Scotland Yard usually had murder victims sent to the hospital and Sherlock had established himself as a consulting detective. He was proud of the name he had made up for himself, well, at least he tried not to think about the person who had suggested the name first. He was the man the Yard (usually Lestrade) came to when they had a crime they couldn't solve. They would consult him for his observational help. He was a master at it and he knew it.

In the years that had passed since his days at uni, Sherlock had returned to the isolationist he had been, except for those few short weeks in his final year. He was quite content with his life, enjoyed his work, enjoyed not having to deal with the sentiment that others thought so critical to complete them as human beings. He'd been involved in enough cases that were crimes of passion, that he was very glad to not have to deal with unpleasant situations that arose as a result of cheating spouses or psychopaths who would rather murder the object of their one-sided interest than see them with someone else. Oh no, love was a dangerous disadvantage. It made people weak, vulnerable, and Sherlock was having none of that.

One of Sherlock's frustrations though with his work was the ineptitude of the pathologists who did the post-mortems at the hospital. They had been the cause of him almost failing to solve several cases because they did not know how to find evidence, nor be careful in what they were doing. His complaints to Mike Stamford, whom he had known since his uni days, finally produced results. Facing the wrath of a supervisor who was also tired of having his ear chewed off by the detective, and one by one, the useless pathologists had left.

One day Mike came into the lab where Sherlock was studying a piece of evidence from the body of a murder victim he was investigating.

"Well, Sherlock, I have a new head pathologist for you to work with. Maybe Doctor Hooper will be better for you to deal with."

Sherlock grunted, not lifting his head from his microscope. He didn't hold our much hope for an improvement. The new man was probably just as bad as the rest.

"Well, okay, I'll leave you to it then and you can get acquainted with Doctor Hooper," said Mike with a sigh.

"Whatever," muttered Sherlock, as he heard the door close a few moments later behind Stamford. He was not going to make any effort to "get to know" this Dr. Hooper.

He was startled therefore to hear a voice, a female one say rather nervously, "Hello, Sherlock."

It was a woman's voice, one that seemed strangely familiar, but he couldn't place it. He raised his head to look over at the woman and his mouth went dry. The puzzle pieces fell into place and he recognised her. All those years ago, the girl, _Molly_. God, that was so long ago, he'd barely been a man and she had been so young. In an instant he flashed back to that one moment in time when he had felt something uncontrollable within him, just a kiss, one that he'd tried very hard to forget. Yet also, she was the woman whose picture for some reason he had never been able to throw away.

He thought briefly, should he acknowledge that he knew her or pretend that he didn't remember? Then he thought how ridiculous that was. They were both much older now, not the young green kids they'd been then.

"Hello, Molly," he said quietly, giving her a brief nod.

She smiled at him, obviously glad of the acknowledgement that he remembered her, and a dimple he still recalled appeared in her cheek. "Looks like I was right about you."

"I beg your pardon?" He raised an eyebrow.

"I told you I was sure you had a great future ahead. From what I've heard, you've made quite a name for yourself here. It's only a matter of time before your fame here spreads outwards," she told him, clasping her hands in front of her.

He wasn't really sure how to respond to that - was he supposed to be flattered? "This is my job. I solve crimes. I'm not seeking fame or fortune, I just want to make sure justice is done." Then he added, "You seem to have done well for yourself too. Congratulations on earning the title of doctor. You must have worked very hard."

"I did," Molly agreed, and her lips curved upwards slightly. "So uh, Mike told me I was to help you in any way when you need help with a case."

"Are you good at what you do?" he asked gruffly.

"Well, I _was_ top of my class and I guess I must have done okay seeing as I got this head pathologist job just after I graduated," she informed him, rather tartly.

"I guess time will tell." Then he realised how rude that sounded. "Sorry. The previous pathologists have been buffoons. I'm just fed up with people messing up on things when I'm in the middle of an investigation. As long as you let me do my investigations and don't interfere, we should work together quite well."

"I'll do my best," Molly promised, and he had a feeling she would.

Over the next few months, Sherlock was pleased to discover that Molly was excellent at her job. They worked very well together. She seemed to know what he needed a moment before he asked for it, and was always ready to help him. They made a good team. She even offered him coffee once. He'd been a little distracted that day, putting some information in his phone and he looked up at her. Molly, who rarely wore lipstick, had for some reason put on a very pretty shade of pink. He'd suddenly had another flashback to all those years earlier, and a pair of lips that invited his kiss. He'd had to force himself out of the memory to hear her ask if he wanted coffee. She was so thoughtful.

That was the day Mike had introduced John to him as well. When Molly had come into the lab with his coffee, Sherlock noticed she had removed the lipstick. Even without it, he was reminded of the way those lips had felt against his, and, fearing his own reaction to that remembrance, he'd made a rude comment about her mouth being too small without the lipstick, to try and force himself to think of something else.

It was rather fortunate that John had moved in with him and acted as a good distraction from Sherlock's continued thoughts of Molly. Forcing himself to have conversations with the doctor helped Sherlock distance himself from those thoughts.

As time passed, Sherlock found himself more comfortable with Molly, developing an easy rapport with her. He'd seek her out when he needed special favours, the occasional body part. She was always willing to do what she could to help him. Considering the way most people regarded him with suspicion and disfavour, particularly Sergeant Sally Donovan from the Yard, who insisted on referring to him as "freak", not that he cared in the slightest what _she_ thought, it was a nice change. It was rather validating to know that their distant past hadn't served to adversely colour their current interaction. In fact, sometimes Sherlock suspected Molly's feelings for him at that time had carried over to the present, and secretly, it pleased him, although he wasn't quite sure why that was. It wasn't like he returned those feelings, was it?

It was a bit discombobulating then to discover Molly was going out with a guy she had met at work. What was more shocking was the obvious fact that the guy was gay. Therefore, he was using Molly for some reason, and that did not sit well with Sherlock. Unfortunately, when he had explained his deductions to Molly and told her she should just break it off with that Jim guy, she had become upset. He didn't know why. Did she really care for the guy? Perhaps she had moved on from her feelings for Sherlock after all and his quiet musings about that had been incorrect. He did get things wrong occasionally, although he hated to admit it, and disliked even more the thought of being wrong when it came to Molly.

When the unassuming Jim turned out to be a criminal mastermind named James Moriarty, Sherlock was pleased that he had warned Molly, and she had apparently heeded his advice, breaking things off with him. Moriarty was incredibly dangerous, and Sherlock was relieved that Molly was no longer in the man's sights.

For a few months, things continued in the same way between them; Sherlock found himself talking a little more to Molly about the cases he was doing and the assistance he received from John. It was just small talk, but he felt their relationship had progressed to the level he had been wanting back in their uni days. They were friends, there were no complications of sentiment. Sometimes though, in unguarded moments, he found his mind drifting back to that one day, that one kiss - the only one he had ever given, or received for that matter.

Suddenly, Sherlock found himself recruited by Mycroft to find a cameraphone that held incriminating evidence of misconduct by someone in the royal family. Sherlock enjoyed matching his skills against others who had an intellectual level closer to his own than the average person. In this case, his opponent was a woman named Irene Adler.

Sherlock's first meeting with the woman, when he had tried to enter her premises under false pretenses, had not gone as planned. He had been very discombobulated by the way she had appeared completely naked in front of him. He was uncomfortable, unable to read the usual clues he gleaned through what people wore. She was a mystery. He had not been attracted to her body, although he had found himself intrigued by her mind.

It had been rather frustrating when she eluded him and his attempt to retrieve the incriminating cameraphone. In the end, Mycroft had told him to just leave the whole Irene Adler thing alone, it was no longer his concern.

That was fine with Sherlock, he had plenty of cases to occupy himself with that did not have anything to do with strange, dominatrix women who used sex as a tool to blackmail people. Nope, sentiment was a chemical defect, and people like Irene Adler proved that concept.

Just before Christmas, Mrs. Hudson came to Sherlock and told him she wanted them to have a little Christmas Day get-together. Sherlock had reluctantly agreed.

"Why don't you invite that pathologist friend of yours?" she asked him. Sherlock knew she quite liked Molly, who had stopped by on several occasions to drop off various things for his experiments.

"Fine," he huffed, but was secretly a little pleased by the suggestion. Having Molly there would maybe make it a bit less boring, he supposed.

The next time he was at the hospital, Sherlock was working alongside Molly, who was helping him examine some specimens from a crime scene. He had been complaining about John. She was used to his little grumbles by now. Then he remembered Mrs. Hudson's suggestion.

"Er, Molly, are you doing anything on Christmas Day? We're having a couple of Christmas drinks. Did you want to come?"

He saw her hesitate and said quickly, "If you have other plans, that's fine."

"I think I can fit it in my schedule," she told him, and he felt an unaccountable sense of gladness that she was coming, then was a little deflated when she added, with a flash of that dimple he found rather endearing, "unless I get a better offer."

Sherlock tried to tell himself he was not looking forward to seeing Molly Hooper in a social setting, but on that evening, a few days later, when he saw her in that sexy little black dress, his heart almost stopped. She had her hair down and a festive Christmas bow in her hair. Then he realised she must be planning to go out somewhere else after the little get-together. Why else was she so dressed up? There was a gift at the top of her bag that was obviously for some new man she had met. His mind thought through several deductions all at once which he spouted in an effort to embarrass her, annoyed that she had, after all, had a better offer. He felt his gut twisting with something he couldn't understand.

After some cutting remarks, he took up the offensive gift, intending to memorise the name of the guy who was stealing away his pathologist. He would find out what he could about the man, make sure Molly wasn't falling into the clutches of another psychopath like Moriarty. When he looked at the label on the present his heart almost stopped for the second time that night, and then it began to beat extremely fast.

Oh God, how could he have been so wrong? Even as he gazed at the card addressed to him, his mind flew through the deductions he had made, about her hopes, however forlorn. Thinking of them in context led him to one conclusion, Molly wasn't trying to impress anyone but him.

Remorse swept over him as he apologised to the woman he had hurt again after so many years. When he kissed her cheek, he felt a tingle, an echo of how he had felt all those years ago. If it were not for the damned text at that moment from Irene Adler, he would have taken Molly aside properly later and apologised again.

The Irene Adler case almost proved his undoing as a detective. He was so sure of himself and his superiority that he made an almost fatal error that led to Mycroft being angry about him ruining some carefully laid plans to thwart a terrorist plot. Sherlock had redeemed himself slightly though when he had discovered the code to Irene's cameraphone. Apparently the woman harboured some sentiment for him. Later, he did feel a bit guilty about outwitting her, and he was on hand to rescue her from being beheaded, but that was just a blip on Sherlock's radar. Even her offer of sex left him unmoved.

Months passed, and Sherlock and Molly had fallen back into the same pattern of working together. She had avoided him for a few weeks at first after the Christmas party, and he didn't blame her, but Molly was the forgiving type. The only difference now was that he was ever increasingly aware of her. He had started to think about her at odd times, dream about what it would be like to kiss her again. When Irene had propositioned him after his rescue of her, Sherlock had had no problem rejecting her because his only thought had been to get back to London, his work and his pathologist. He tried not to think about how a proposition from Molly might evoke a completely different reaction, but Sherlock knew she was not the same kind of woman as Irene.

But there was something in the way Molly sometimes looked at Sherlock, which made his chest tighten. The urge to kiss her kept increasing and he had the feeling it was because he had seen how utterly different Irene Adler and Molly Hooper were, and it was Molly who sparked his continued interest, with her soft brown eyes and limpid gazes, as well as her sweet lips that called to him.

Deciding he needed to test the waters on Molly's receptiveness to his touch, he decided to kiss her cheek again after completion of a successful case. She didn't pull away, in fact, she smiled at him. Apparently kisses on the cheek were definitely friend-acceptable. Kissing Molly's cheek was like touching the softest velvet.

A few high profile cases later, and a few more chaste kisses on Molly's cheek, and Sherlock was on a high, not a drug induced one. He was still a little unsure as to whether Molly harboured any romantic feelings for him, or if she had put them aside after the Christmas disaster.

Sherlock had been pondering things for awhile, wondering if these feelings he was starting to have for Molly were of more than friendship, when Moriarty turned up again out of the blue. The detective had been expecting it to happen at some point. What he had not expected was just how clever the criminal was. He was definitely a match for the super-sleuth. They were playing a chess game and for once, Sherlock was not certain of his next move.

When it came to Molly though, he had a better idea, after a very interesting discussion in the lab during a case he had enlisted her help on. She had finally opened up about her dad being dead. He knew of course that her dad would have been gone for many years, but this was the first time she said anything. Then she had said something very perceptive about him being sad. And Sherlock _was_ sad. He felt inadequate when it came to besting Moriarty, and he also felt unsure of himself and his relationship with Molly. He, usually so good at deducing things, could not be sure that Molly wanted more than friendship anymore - until that day. She had basically told him he could have her if he needed anything from her. Her admission had sent him back into buffering mode. He needed to think on how to proceed.

When Moriarty's defamation plans became clear later that same night and Sherlock became aware of the man's endgame, to cause Sherlock's death, the detective at last knew what he had to do. He needed Molly to help him, and it was time to come clean with her. He was finally ready to admit to himself, and to her, that he wanted a relationship with her, short-lived though it might be if things went as he needed them to go. He needed one last confirmation from her though - was she ready for him?

In the darkened lab he told her she counted, had always counted. When she asked him for the second time what he needed as he approached her, he said, "You."

Their first kiss at the funfair had been initiated by him. If she wanted something now, it had to be her choice and he had to show her he was ready to take things to the next level.

So he waited, his face inches from hers, willing her to kiss him, but instead she said quietly, "Do you really need me?"

"More than you could possibly know, Molly," he responded.

Her lips twitched upwards slightly at his admission, before her expression sobered once again. "Then tell me what is going on, why you say you need to die."

He was disappointed that she had not taken the initiative to kiss him. Perhaps he had not made himself as clear as he thought he had.

Nonetheless, he put that aside so he could discuss with her his plans to fake his death, in the likely event Moriarty would want it of him. Hopefully it would not be necessary, but if it was, he needed to at least try to survive.

Before he could start though, Molly made a suggestion. "Why don't we discuss this at my place?" and Sherlock nodded.

He decided then and there if she did not take the initiative to kiss him after they had had their discussion, he would take the plunge himself.

* * *

 **Author's note:** Well, Sherlock is definitely struggling with feeling an excess of sentiment for Molly, isn't he? I feel compelled to make mention once again of the fact that this is a dream, rather than a mere AU between canon scenes story. Therefore, if Sherlock's desire to be with Molly is a little OOC for you, remember that it is a post-Sherrinford, happily-married-to-Molly, more enlightened version of Sherlock who is dreaming this, and his real feelings for her are fueling this dream version of himself.

I hope the time jump from Sherlock's uni days to start the series canon was not too abrupt for you. I know I progressed things quite quickly in this chapter to get to the scene towards the end of season two. There's a lot of story to get through and I didn't want to get bogged down by the earlier scenes between them. My main focus was to get to the part of the story where I can show a relationship between them developing further.

Thank you for following and favouriting if you have done so. If you are one of those people who has done so, but has not reviewed, please consider doing that as well. Reviews are always appreciated because they are so rarely given. All writers need to feel their work is worthwhile and to receive the occasional pat on the back.


	7. Second Chances

Molly opened the door to her flat and ushered Sherlock in before her. This was the first time she had invited him to her flat and she felt a bit shy about it. Whatever he needed to talk about was obviously very important, however. Telling her he needed to die?

Sherlock took off his coat while she removed her own jacket. He sat quietly at her table as she made them a cup of coffee, after which she asked Sherlock to explain what was going on, and he did. He was concerned about Moriarty, convinced the man wanted him dead.

Molly was horrified, after all, this was the nice, unassuming man she had gone out with on three occasions. Of course, she had not really been interested in him, and had been secretly hoping to elicit a reaction from Sherlock. It had still been a shock and source of embarrassment to discover the man was only using her in turn, to get to Sherlock. How ironic that their real objectives had both included the detective.

Pushing back her fear now, Molly was determined to help Sherlock in any way she could. Whatever happened was going to happen soon. The two of them discussed Sherlock's options, chances of survival and made plans.

By the end of it, Molly was exhausted. She was also more frightened than she had ever been before in her life. Ever since the Christmas party, when Sherlock had apologised so sweetly, she had sensed a change in him, and those sweet kisses of gratitude on her cheek several occasions since then made her feel as if he had become more like the young man she had started to know at uni, the one who had made an effort to be friendly, until she had ended their budding friendship after that kiss. She had never forgotten it, never been able to completely put him behind her.

Meeting Sherlock again after so many years had shown her that absence had made the heart grow fonder in her case. He was even more handsome than she remembered, more self assured. But oh, he had also become colder too, and she didn't know if that was the way he had been before they met initially or not. Perhaps she had just been a distraction back then. What was his true self?

Now, Molly knew better. The real Sherlock had been the man who had tried to befriend her, the one who had taken her to a funfair, the one who had kissed her. She had almost kissed him when he had said he needed her, but what he had said about needing to die was too important to allow for such a distraction.

They finally finished all their plans and Molly rose, taking their coffee cups to the sink. She was trying to think of what to do next, to reopen the conversation about him needing her, when she turned back from the sink to discover Sherlock right there, looking intently at her, and her heartbeat immediately accelerated at the look in his eyes.

"Molly, there's something else we need to discuss, a very big elephant in the room, as it were," he stated, clasping his hands behind his back.

"I...I know," she said, suddenly feeling very shy.

His eyes searched hers. "You asked me a question, during our last conversation all those years ago. Do you remember what it was? It was something I couldn't answer back then."

She thought back to that night. Something she had asked after the kiss. "It was a long time ago, Sherlock..."

He smiled slightly. "Well, I'll answer it now and perhaps it will jog your memory. My answer is - _more_."

And then she remembered as clearly as if she had just said it to him - " _Do you want friendship or do you want more?"_

As the realisation hit her, his hands came around her waist, his head dipped down and he kissed her. This kiss was nothing like the one they had shared so many years earlier, shy and tentative. This was a kiss with meaning, with purpose and determination.

Without volition, Molly's arms went around his neck. She was drowning in sensation. If the last kiss had been memorable, this was even more so. Sherlock was offering his heart on his sleeve to her and she took it, giving hers to him in return.

They stood there for several minutes, lost together in the wonder of the kiss and what it meant to both of them until finally they had to part for air. Both of them were breathing hard.

"Oh, Molly," he told her in a voice that was even deeper than usual, "you have no idea how long I've been wanting to do that. Since Christmas in fact, when I realised I was jealous of a bloody phantom boyfriend."

Molly gave a gurgle of laughter. "Then why did you wait so long?"

His hand found hers and he squeezed it. "Because I had hurt you. I didn't know if you even would still be interested in me after the way I behaved. It was only after our conversation earlier today, when you said I could have you, that I was fairly certain you still cared."

Molly's brow furrowed. "Why didn't you kiss me earlier at the lab then? You were so close to me."

His lips quirked. "I was hoping you'd take the initiative and kiss _me_."

"I wanted to, Sherlock, but all that talk about you needing to die was a bit of a distraction," she admitted.

Sherlock sighed and his thumb stroked her palm. "I know what we are planning is very dangerous. I know too that it is something I may not survive. But I couldn't execute the plan, not without you knowing how I felt about you first. I do care and as I said, you do count."

Molly's eyes filled with tears and she felt one escape down her cheek. "So our beginning may also be the end."

"Not if I can help it. I fully intend to survive," he assured her, raising his free hand to brush away the tear gently.

Molly bit her lip. "But what are you going to do afterwards if, I mean _when_ you do survive? Where will you go?" Another tear trickled down her cheek and Sherlock gently wiped that away as well. His touch was so tender, loving even.

"I spoke with Mycroft before I met you at the lab. If the worst case scenario happens and I have to disappear, he will make the arrangements for it. But I will need to stay in London for a few days to make sure everyone believes I'm dead."

"I don't even want to think that the worst case scenario might happen and you have to jump off the roof, but if it does, tell me you will stay here, with me. If I don't get to have much time with you at least give me that," she entreated, looking up at his impossibly handsome face.

He smiled at her. "I was hoping you'd ask. I didn't want to just assume." He tugged on her hand then and led her to the sofa where they sat facing each other.

"Can I kiss you again now?" he asked, bending a little closer to her.

"Yes please," was her response and she curled her arms around his neck and pulled him down so his lips could meet hers. They kissed for some time, as their hearts beat an erratic tattoo. Sherlock's lips evoked sensations Molly had never felt before, the butterflies in her stomach, the tingles that went through her body and more.

This time when their lips parted, Sherlock looked into her eyes and said, "I have something I want to show you, Molly. Something that will prove I never forgot that short time we spent at uni getting to know one another."

A crease formed between her brows. "What kind of proof?"

"Hold on, let me get out my wallet." She watched as he retrieved his wallet from his trouser pocket. He reached into it and pulled something out, then showed it to her.

Molly couldn't help her gasp of astonishment. It was the two photos she had given him on that long ago day at the funfair. Sure, the photos were a little creased and worn looking, as if they had been frequently removed and reinserted into various wallets over the years, but she was truly amazed he had kept them.

Then she smiled. "Wait here." She went into her bedroom and dug down into her bedside drawer, finding what she sought after a couple minutes.

She returned to Sherlock and presented the little photo frame to him. "I kept my photos too, Sherlock."

He had apparently returned his photos to his wallet and now it was his turn to look astonished. "You kept yours too, I can hardly believe it," he murmured, staring at the photos in front of him. Then he set the frame down on the table and pulled Molly back into his arms, kissing her passionately until the room spun dizzily around her and she couldn't think of anything besides how incredible Sherlock's lips felt on hers. She could have remained locked in his embrace forever, but he finally drew back from her again.

"I really wish I didn't have to leave, Molly, but I need to see Mycroft and get things finalised," he told her regretfully, turning away to put on his coat.

When he had left for his brother's place, before his planned return to the hospital for his assignation with potential death, Molly knew that what she felt for him was much deeper than she had even realised. She loved him truly, deeply. She would do anything for him. They had not exchanged words of love yet of course. You didn't just blurt out "I love you," when you embarked upon a relationship. Molly did not want to jeopardise this relationship with impetuous declarations. Besides, they might not even be able to have a future together anyway.

In the end, Sherlock and Molly's carefully discussed plans enabled Sherlock to implement Operation Lazarus. Moriarty had done the unthinkable - killed himself, which meant Sherlock had to follow through with the most dangerous scenario of all.

It was hours of torture for Molly before she was able to leave the hospital. She'd had to take care of the replacement body, filling out the paperwork for Sherlock's "death" and multitudes of other little details. She ostensibly performed the post-mortem on Sherlock, putting the "results" in the computer with shaking fingers, all the while worrying that someone would find out it was fake. Fortunately everything went like clockwork in that regard too. The stress of having to lie though made her look upset enough to fool anyone who knew she and Sherlock were friends, so that was a plus.

The moment Molly entered her flat she looked for Sherlock, half afraid he would not be there. "Sherlock?" she called softly after closing her door and locking it.

He came out of her bedroom then. After spending an afternoon dealing with a dead body that looked quite like him it was such a relief to see him in the flesh that she ran to him and hugged him. "Thank God, thank God," she said, passionately, feeling his arms come around her.

"No, Molly," he answered seriously. "God had nothing to do with it. It was careful planning and excellent teamwork."

"We are going to have to agree to disagree on that one, Sherlock. One day you will know it was God who saved you," she told him positively.

"I'm not going to argue the point with you right now," he stated, then continued. "I've spoken with Mycroft."

"What did he say?" Molly asked a little fearfully, looking up at him.

"After the funeral Mycroft wants me to stay with him until my fake gravestone is erected, then I head for parts unknown." He reached for her hand.

Molly's lips tightened, as did her hold on his hand. "Why can't you just stay here until you have to leave London?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "For some reason my brother thinks we need to make elaborate plans to determine Moriarty's base of operation and dismantle his network. My brother has estimated this could take six months to a year. In the meantime, he will try to clear my name so I can come back 'from the dead' as it were."

"Just like Jesus did," remarked Molly softly. He ignored her comment as she knew he would, silly, stubborn man.

"I have a question to ask you, Molly." He released her hand to put his on either side of her face.

"What, Sherlock?" she questioned, looking into the fathomless depths of his turquoise irises.

His thumbs stroked across her cheeks. "I know I have no right to ask this, but will you wait for me? Will you wait a year if I'm away that long? If it takes me longer than a year, move on with your life without me."

"I'll wait a year for you, Sherlock. Of course I will, if that is what you want," she whispered and his lips came down on hers fiercely, demandingly.

Moly put her hands up and threaded them in his beautiful curls, exhilarated at the feel of his lips on hers again. Each time he kissed her was better than the last. He was starting to explore a little now, moving away from her mouth to trail tiny kisses along her jawline, then down the column of her throat and she gasped. She knew her heart was beating fast at his touch. Then his mouth was on hers again and she knew she would be willing to wait for him forever if she knew he would come back to her. This was worth waiting for.

Reluctantly they parted and Sherlock pressed his forehead against hers. "You're so sweet, Molly. I had no idea kissing you would be so good. If I had, I would have done it long ago."

Molly gave a little smile. "You did do it long ago, remember?"

"I wasn't ready for the way it made me feel then. I could not process it. Things are different now. I'm not a green uni student anymore."

"You certainly are not," she agreed. Sherlock was very much a man, strong and confident.

Molly cooked dinner for the two of them and afterwards, Sherlock remarked, "We should probably discuss sleeping arrangements if I'm going to be here for the next three days or so."

"Take my room," offered Molly immediately. "I can sleep in the single bed in my spare room."

He looked at her uncertainly, a crease between his brows. "Are you sure? I hate to turn you out of your room."

"I'm sure, as long as you don't sleep on my side of the bed." She nudged him playfully.

Sherlock's lips curved upwards in amusement. "When I was in the bedroom before you came home I noticed the side you sleep on. I sleep on the other side in my bedroom, so that works for me. Thanks for putting those clothes in the wardrobe for me, by the way."

"It wasn't a big deal. Your brother had them sent over early this morning, before I left for work," Molly replied, remembering her surprise to find a man at her door holding a big carton at six in the morning.

They sat together on the sofa for some time after their sleeping arrangements conversation. Molly really enjoyed having Sherlock close to her. Every now and then he would lean into her and kiss her. It felt like she had a boyfriend which was very odd, but nice, even though she knew it wouldn't last. Finally Molly yawned. "I'm going to shower and go to bed. I have to be up early for work."

"Guess I'll do that too," responded Sherlock. "Do you mind if I use your shower after you?"

"I'll be quick and I'll leave the water running for you. Wouldn't want any of the neighbours to suspect I have anyone here," Molly said, getting to her feet.

Sherlock stood as well. "I could always put on that fake beard and moustache I used when I came here after I left the hospital.''

Molly giggled. "I wish I'd seen that. You must have looked utterly ridiculous.

"Hey," Sherlock huffed, "that disguise, plus sunglasses and the hat to cover this damn mop of curls did a good job of making me look unrecognisable."

Molly touched those curls reverently. "Don't ever get rid of those beautiful curls, Sherlock. It's one of the things I love best about you." She didn't realise she had said the word "love" until after it had slipped out. But she did love his curls so she guessed that was okay, she hadn't said she loved _him_.

"I suppose I'll have to keep them then, but please don't call them beautiful, Molly. That's a ridiculously feminine term." He pouted at her then, and she tweaked one of those curls she would continue to consider beautiful, despite his protests.

Molly then kissed him on the cheek before heading into the shower. She left the shower on afterwards and headed out of the bathroom, clad only in a towel, meaning to grab the chemise she wore at night from her bedroom. She was a little embarrassed to find Sherlock in there, rather than still being in the sitting room. He was gathering his things for his own shower. The look that he gave her when he saw her made her go hot all over as she flushed with embarrassment. "Uh...shower's free," she said, holding the towel a little more firmly around herself. He had a glazed look in his eyes as he looked at her, but he quickly looked away.

"Thanks," he muttered, not looking at her again before he went into the bathroom.

Molly hastily grabbed her chemise and knickers and put them on. Then she took her dressing gown as well. Her alarm clock was next, which she took into the smaller bedroom. Sherlock didn't need it and she didn't want to sleep late. She had just settled herself in bed when Sherlock knocked at her door and entered when she invited him in. He had finished his own shower quickly and was clad in tartan pyjamas.

"Thought I'd say goodnight and sweet dreams," he told her in his rich baritone that made her always go weak at the knees. His goodnight kiss made her even weaker. He looked so gorgeous with his hair all wet and unruly. She was glad she wasn't sleeping in the same bed with him. She had a distinct feeling that Sherlock could definitely be dangerous to her long held virtue.

He left and soon all was quiet in the flat until a few hours later when she woke suddenly. She could hear Sherlock talking in his sleep through the thin walls that separated the two bedrooms. "No, that's the wrong scenario," he was saying. "Operation Lazarus is the one we were supposed to do. Now I have no safety net to fall into. Oh God, what am I going to do? Save myself or save my friends?"

Molly heard the anguish in his voice and didn't hesitate. She went to her bedroom and climbed into her bed, even as she heard him say, "Goodbye, John."

She pulled Sherlock towards her and stroked his hair, feeling his tears immediately soak through the thin fabric of her chemise. "It's okay, Sherlock. I'm here. It's just a dream."

* * *

 **Author's note:** I hope you enjoyed the way I brought back that long ago conversation that prompted their first (well, second) kiss.

Have you ever read anything similar to this? I'm hoping it is completely unique, especially in light of the fact that there have been so many stories written in this fandom. It's very difficult to come up with original ideas and I'd like to think that I bring something new to the table.


	8. Falling Again After the Fall

How had it all gone wrong? Hadn't he made it clear which scenario was the one to use? Nothing was going as planned. He was in a catch 22 - save your friends or save yourself. Sherlock stepped closer to the edge of the building. There was nothing there to catch him when he fell. He would be collateral damage, but his friends would live.

"Goodbye, John," he choked out through his tears as he dropped his phone behind him.

Sherlock stepped off the edge of the building and heard a soft voice say in his ear, even as he plummeted to his death, "It's okay, Sherlock. I'm here. It's just a dream."

Blindly, he clung to Molly, then opened his eyes. It _was_ just a dream, he was safe. Molly was holding him, stroking his hair and his cheeks were wet with tears. He supposed he was in shock. As he had been falling off the roof, even though he knew there was a huge air mattress beneath to catch him, Sherlock had felt his life flash before his eyes. Images of Molly from their uni days popped into his mind, then of her as she was now. He wanted to live, for her. He wanted to explore their new relationship now that he actually felt ready for one.

He could smell Molly's hair, the fragrant smell of jasmine vanilla on her skin that she seemed to favour in a body wash and it comforted him.

She shifted slightly and he was afraid she was going to return to the other bedroom. "Please, Molly. Stay with me, I don't want to be alone right now."

She stroked his hair, settling his head against her chest. "I'm not going anywhere, Sherlock. I was just getting more comfortable. Go back to sleep. I'm here for you, always."

With those words, he allowed himself to fall back asleep.

When he woke, for a moment he was disoriented. _Where am I? What smells so good?_ He opened his eyes. Morning light filtered through the curtains and he could see his head was on Molly's chest. She was wearing something pink and satiny and he could see the curve of her other breast as it rose and fell in the rhythm of sleep. His left hand was looped somewhere around her waist. Her sweet form caused him to drift his hand upwards. He was curious. He had never felt a woman's breast before. The one felt very soft under his head, would it be as soft to the touch, and would his hand fit around the circumference? He reached the curve and encircled it, finding to his satisfaction that it fit perfectly into his hand. He remembered his rude comment from months before, mocking her small breast size. Sure, Molly wasn't large, but her proportions were delicate and beautiful just as she was.

He stroked through the silky fabric, wondering at the sensation it evoked within himself. _What is this?_ There was a flicker of heat rising within him, one that spread through him. He felt some of it when he kissed Molly, but this was more, demanded more. His breath began to quicken and he suddenly was aware that what he was feeling was a powerful urge to be with Molly, truly be with her. His body was reacting in a way which told him that quite clearly.

Sherlock lifted his head from Molly's chest and pulled himself upwards so he could set his lips against hers, even as he continued to stroke her breast through her nightie, or whatever that silky thing was. Even as he kissed her, she responded on a sigh, moving her arms so she was holding him close.

Then she suddenly came awake fully and gasped, pushing him away. "What are you doing?" she asked in a shaky voice.

He looked at her. "I should have thought that was fairly obvious. I was kissing you." His body was on fire. He reached for her again, but she scrambled out of the bed.

"Sherlock, you're moving too fast for me." Her chest was rising and falling rapidly in her agitation. Despite her words, Sherlock observed her dilated pupils, and he knew she was experiencing the same sensations he himself was feeling.

"Why?" he asked. "You've awakened in me feelings I've never had before. I'd kind of like to explore them."

Molly bit her lip, and he was suddenly reminded of the young Molly and his observation of her doing that, and thinking it was rather adorable. "I need to get up for work anyway. We are going to have to discuss this when I get home."

Sherlock pouted. That nightie thing of hers was doing things to him. As if suddenly noticing his gaze was fixed somewhere other than her face, she crossed her arms over her chest and blushed. "Don't look at me that way, Sherlock."

"What way?" he asked in an innocent tone.

She took a step backwards. "As if you want to ravish me. There's this, I don't know, _look_ in your eyes."

Sherlock sat up in the bed and ran a hand through his sleep rumpled hair. "I can't help it, Molly. I've never experienced this before, these feelings. You seem to have brought out these feelings of...sentiment in me."

She gulped. "I think we need to talk this through. Maybe it would be best if I took the next few days off..."

Sherlock brightened. The thought of having Molly's undivided attention for the next few days was extremely appealing. "I think that is a very good idea. I know I'd like to spend whatever time I have left here, with you."

Molly left the room and he heard her on the phone. She returned a few minutes later and perched on the edge of the bed. "Mike told me to take the next few days off, that he understood I must be grieving. I feel bad for lying to him."

Dammit, she looked altogether too enticing sitting on the edge of the bed wearing so little. "For God's sake, Molly, would you put some more clothes on? If you are not going to let me indulge in these carnal desires, at least help me out."

She blushed then and hastily left the bedroom to get her dressing gown and put it on. "Better?" she asked upon her return.

"A bit," he acknowledged. Of course, it would be better if she covered her face in a balaclava so he couldn't see her lovely features, but that might be asking a bit much.

"I'm going to fix us some breakfast and coffee," she said. "Why don't you get dressed?"

"Fine," he huffed. She left him alone then, and Sherlock took out a clean shirt and trousers from the wardrobe. Mycroft had kindly arranged for several changes of clothes for him. His brother was nothing if not prepared. The detective pondered putting on his suit jacket, then decided there was no point. He was basically stuck in this flat for the next few days anyway.

When he went to the little dining area near Molly's kitchenette, she was already putting scrambled eggs on a plate for him and toast.

Sherlock ate hungrily. It was rather nice being taken care of. Mrs. Hudson had brought him meals on occasion, but this, eating together with someone was different, rather domestic. He and John had never eaten together at a table when they were sharing the flat at 221B because the kitchen table was always littered with objects for his experiments. Would he ever get to go back there again? He hoped so.

After they had finished eating, Sherlock went over to the sofa and sat down while Molly left to get dressed. When she returned, she sat beside him.

Sherlock took her small hands in his much larger ones. He was about to speak when a plaintive "meow" sounded. _That blasted cat,_ he thought in annoyance. When he had arrived at the flat the previous day, the cat had wound itself around his feet, almost tripping him. He had hidden from Sherlock after that, but had now apparently decided the detective was an ally.

Molly immediately jumped up. "Sorry, I need to feed him. I'll be right back."

While she was gone, Sherlock thought about what to say to Molly. He knew he was very inexperienced, so she was going to have to tell him the rules of etiquette when it came to a relationship. If only he didn't have to leave so soon. He would have liked to explore it more, take his time, but he felt a sense of urgency. He only had a couple of days with her after all. She had said she would wait for him which made him feel a bit better, but if he was gone for longer than a year, it would be unfair to expect her to keep waiting.

When Molly came back, he took her hands once again. "Molly, this relationship thing, I know our time is limited, but I need you to know I'm not just doing this to enjoy a fling with you. I have...long term hopes."

She squeezed his hands. "I know you aren't the type to have a fling. I've never seen you interested in a woman."

He regarded her seriously and took a deep breath, then began, "Well, that's just it, Molly. I'm sure you know this already, but, well," he hesitated, then felt the flush creeping up his cheeks as he confessed, "I've never been with a woman, intimately I mean."

Molly removed a hand to caress his cheek. "Sherlock, thank you for telling me. I suspected that, but it's good to know."

He continued to feel embarrassment. After all, men his age were not usually virgins, at least, judging by the many cases he had investigated in the past that were crimes of passion, and the goings-on he had seen when he had been at university. John too had already had several girlfriends since he had been at Baker Street. He didn't think John was just chastely kissing them when he stayed the night with them or they stayed overnight at Baker Street. It had never concerned him before, but now, Sherlock felt woefully inadequate.

He chewed on his lower lip for a moment, then stopped himself. Now he was picking up nervous habits from Molly. "Well, now you can understand why I'm not really sure how to deal with these feelings I'm having. I feel like I want to be closer to you and I haven't felt that way before. How long do you usually wait before you move to intimacy like that with a boyfriend?" He hoped she didn't think he was being too pushy, but he needed to know what her usual timeline was before she was ready for a sexual relationship.

He saw the blush that crept up Molly's cheeks. Damn, he had overstepped. Then his mouth dropped open at her words.

"Sherlock, I can't tell you that, because I've never been with a man either."

"What?" he questioned stupidly. "That makes no sense, though. These days it seems all women sleep with their boyfriends at some point. I saw plenty of it when I was in uni."

Molly frowned at that. "That's a totally ridiculous thing to think, Sherlock. Why would you think every woman is like that?"

"Well, those talk shows that John has had on sometimes. They all seem to deal with cheating men or women or issues of paternity. Besides, I may have been uninterested in women when I was at university - well, except for that short period when we were getting to know one another, but I was not ignorant of the fact that my classmates enjoyed boasting of their sexual exploits with women to one another."

Molly folded her arms. "Well, I'm not one of those women, Sherlock. Perhaps I'm in the minority, but I was raised to protect my virginity, to value it. I was not going to just hand it over to anyone lightly. My virginity is a gift I want to keep, preferably for the man I marry." And there she went again, biting her lip. "I should probably show you something."

He gave her a confused look. "What?"

"Wait here," she instructed unnecessarily. It wasn't as if he was going anywhere. She headed to her bedroom and returned a minute later with a small box, a small ring box and sat beside him once again.

"Why on earth do you have a ring in there?" he inquired, looking at the silver object nestled within the velvet when she opened the lid.

"It's called a purity ring," she explained. "It was a gift from my father for my sixteenth birthday." She looked at him expectantly but his expression remained blank. She sighed and continued. "A purity ring is worn to show that you wish to remain abstinent until marriage."

His brow furrowed. "You weren't wearing it when we met or on the occasions I saw you. I would have noticed something like that."

Molly looked away from him and stared at the box in her hands. "I stopped wearing it because people were making fun of me for having such old-fashioned values. I wanted to show it to you so you understand where I'm coming from, that my virginity is something I want to keep for my husband."

"Oh." Sherlock tried to process this new information about Molly. Actually, he should have figured it out from clues he'd had over the years. She had been at a church service that night, that Easter weekend; she had mentioned singing at church. Also she had given credit to God for Sherlock's survival and made some reference to Jesus. This did complicate things somewhat. He sighed. "Well, even if I was ready for that kind of commitment with you, it would not happen before I left. So I guess I will content myself with your sweet lips."

She offered him a tentative smile. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. I wish we had more time. You know I care about you a lot, but you scare me too," she admitted.

Sherlock was confused by that. "Why would I scare you? What have I done to scare you?"

"Nothing, Sherlock. It is nothing you've done. It's me." She blew out a breath and set the ring box down on the table in front of the sofa, then continued. "I...you make me feel things too. Even back at uni, I was feeling things for you I felt I was too young to deal with. It's one of the reasons I broke things off before anything happened." She began to twist her fingers together nervously instead and Sherlock placed a hand over them.

"Do you still feel unprepared for those feelings?" he asked gently, understanding for the first time that he wasn't the only one struggling with the intensity of these emotions.

She considered that for a moment before answering. "Not unprepared really, more scared, like I said. I don't think you understand what you do to me. I seem to have a singular lack of control around you. I...want to do more with you, in a way I haven't felt with anyone before."

"Then why are you scared to explore it, if it is something we both want?" No, he couldn't propose marriage right now, but it was definitely in the back of his mind for when he eventually returned to her.

"I told you, Sherlock!" she said, and he could hear anguish in her voice. "I'm scared of getting in too deep with you. It was a lot easier when I knew you didn't feel the same way, but now that you do, I might find myself tempted to go further with you than I should, to betray my promise to keep myself pure."

His fingers tightened over her hands. Amazing how his one hand could cover both of hers. He tried to puzzle things out in his own mind. Molly was afraid of intimacy, yet she most certainly felt desire for him. Would the promise of a future permanent commitment make her more inclined to explore those desires? "But it would be okay if you knew I wanted to marry you?" he ventured.

"Yes...no...I don't know!" she burst out. "I know we should not even be talking about this, wouldn't be, if you weren't leaving soon."

"We can't change the way things are," he pointed out reasonably. "You said you'd wait for me, so apparently you care enough to want to explore our relationship further, at least somewhat, if not all the way to the bedroom."

Molly blushed again. "Of course I do, even if we only have a couple days now. I've been dreaming about you for years."

He felt a bit better after she said that. She really did care, and presumably a lot, for him. "Then why the hell are we talking so much? Can I just kiss you now? If that is all it is to be, give me some memories to take away with me, please, Molly."

She needed no more encouragement, lifting her face to his so he could kiss her as he had been wanting to do since their kiss in bed. Oh, her lips felt so good, they moulded with his perfectly. He felt his heartbeat accelerate again. How could a kiss evoke so many feelings in him? He wanted more, but he kept a tight rein on himself. He was not going to push her to go further unless she wanted it also.

For two days the pair spent as much time as possible together, frequently kissing. Sherlock never tried to kiss Molly below her neck, although he was sorely tempted to explore further. From the way his body had responded when he had caressed Molly's breast, the idea of kissing her there would be dangerous territory. It would either lead to Molly pushing him away, or in them taking things too far, and feeling guilty afterwards.

Mycroft had been in contact, explaining what would happen after the funeral, how a car would stop by the church if Sherlock wanted to attend the service in disguise, which he did. He wanted to hear what people said about him. Molly had been working on a eulogy of her own for him, and he knew she was finding it difficult, even though he was not truly dead. She was feeling distressed because he was about to leave her.

"I...I'm going to go out for a bit and pick us up some dinner for our last night," she told him. "I know you like your chips - how does that sound?"

"That sounds good," he told her, and she left the flat. While she was gone, Sherlock looked in her fridge for something to drink. Laying sideways on a bottom shelf he saw an unopened bottle of wine and pulled it out. They might as well indulge a little if it was to be their last night together.

When Molly returned, he had placed two wine glasses on the table, with wine in them. "I hope this is okay. It's a bit fancy to have with chips, but well, the wine was just sitting in the fridge."

Molly laughed. "It's been in there for more than a year. I don't drink much and I certainly don't drink alone. It was a gift from my friend, Meena. She told me she would come over sometime and share it with me, but we never got around to it."

"I should have probably left it then, sorry," he apologised, suddenly feeling Toby's fur brushing against his legs.

"No it's fine. It's been in there so long it will probably taste awful." Molly noticed Toby's movements and fed him as Sherlock placed plates on the table for them.

They settled down to eat their chips. _Definitely not as good as Joe's Fish Shop,_ thought Sherlock, but adequate. Surprisingly, the wine was pretty good, not that Sherlock was an aficionado, by any means. Excessive consumption of alcohol had never been one of his vices.

They began to make toasts, toasts to the success of the scenario, toasts to absent friends, a toast to Meena for being the unsuspecting donor of the wine. Before long, half the bottle was gone and Sherlock was feeling decidedly tipsy. It was nice to escape reality a bit, and tomorrow was going to be a gloomy day.

Molly had turned on a radio in her kitchen and some romantic music came on. "Wanna dance?" Sherlock asked. Without waiting for an answer, he pulled Molly into his arms, holding her waist as she put hers around his neck. She was playing with his curls again, and he was enjoying it immensely. They swayed together, rather than danced. Her body felt so good against his. He moved his hands up to rub her back. She gave a small sigh of contentment and he bent his head to kiss her.

Molly's lips were so inviting, and he deepened the kiss, coaxing her mouth open so he could slide his tongue inside it and taste the wine that he could smell on her breath. It was curiously intoxicating. He hadn't tried using his tongue before and it seemed a much more intimate thing to do than he had attempted before. She responded, tasting his mouth with her own tongue delicately.

Even as he kissed her, Sherlock's mind palace registered that this was their last night together. He didn't know what the future held for them, he didn't know if he would be back in a year or not. He hoped so. He just knew he needed her, this woman. The wine was affecting him more than he had expected. He felt more daring, and his hands tugged at Molly's blouse in the back to lift it, so he could feel her bare skin.

He was still kissing her, moving his mouth to her throat, wanting to touch more of her skin with his lips. Molly's quickened breathing spurred him on. "Love, can I hold you just a little closer? Can I feel your body against mine without all these clothes in the way?"

He looked at her intently and saw the answer in her eyes without her needing to express the words. He knew that she wanted to be closer to him too. In one swift movement, as Molly obligingly raised her arms, he pulled her blouse and jumper over her head, then continued to kiss her. He felt Molly's trembling fingers unbuttoning his shirt. He had still not bothered to wear his suit jacket. He felt for the clasp of her bra, vaguely waiting for her to tell him to stop, but she didn't.

After wrestling with the confounded clasp for a minute he groaned in frustration. She had finished unbuttoning his shirt by then and he pulled back to take it off. Then Molly reached behind her back and deftly removed her bra. For the first time he saw her breasts and drew in his breath. They were perfect. He touched them reverently as Molly threw her head back and closed her eyes, making a small sound of pleasure. Apparently the wine was affecting her too, he had never known her to be so uninhibited. He continued to watch for signs of resistance, but she was driving him crazy, pressing her body against him, inflaming him.

He wanted her desperately, had never wanted anything in his life more than to be with this woman who meant so much to him, this woman he had the distinct feeling he had fallen in love with. It was odd, he thought. When he had saved Irene from being beheaded, she had offered him sex. He had refused though. He simply felt no sexual desire with her. With Molly though, his whole being was positively on fire. His body reacted to her in a way he had never experienced with another woman, and it was seeking its ultimate fulfillment. But it wasn't just about sexual urges, it was so much more. It was the desire to give himself fully to her, in every way, to love her as she deserved to be loved. He could sense Molly's own desire by the way she was pressing her body ever closer to his, obviously aware of his own need and responding to it, rather than pulling away.

He needed to ask the question though, to make sure she consented. Verbal consent was the only way he would proceed.

"Molly," he murmured against her lips, even as his hands held her close. "I want you, to make love to you, to be one with you. Will you...will you allow it?"

He held his breath until her answer came on a sigh, even as she gazed at him through heavy-lidded eyes that reflected his own passion. "Yes, Sherlock."

* * *

 **Author's note:** Oh dear, after all that talk about not wanting to take things too far, alcohol can certainly cause one's inhibitions to fall away. The question is - will they or won't they do it? And if they do, how are they going to feel afterwards when clearer heads prevail?

Make your deductions, folks. I enjoy hearing them. 10 points for Gryffindor (or the Hogwarts house of your choice) if you guess correctly ;) Seriously though, I encourage interactions with my stories. It makes things so much more fun!

Do you want to see them consummate their relationship at this point or do you think it is too soon? Find out in the next chapter!


	9. Unexpected Consequences

**Special** **Author's note:** There is a love scene in this chapter which I am rating a hard T. It isn't at all explicit and gives far less detail than many T-rated stories I've seen even, but it borders on M. Please let me know whether I should change the rating for this story to M, or whether I should just make note of chapters that contain love scenes.

* * *

Since their conversation two days earlier, Molly had felt herself falling more in love with Sherlock. Every time he kissed her, her body responded in a way that showed her how much she cared. She was ready to love him, did love him, even though she knew he wasn't at that same point. If he had asked to marry her, she would have said yes, secure in the knowledge that he was the only man for her. Of course he didn't, and the whole notion of it was utterly ridiculous. You didn't start a relationship by progressing to a commitment like that so fast. Molly, however, had loved Sherlock for years. She had never forgotten him and her feeble attempts with other relationships had suffered as a result. She compared every man to the handsome, curly-haired young man who had enthralled her almost from the moment they had met.

Tonight, their last night together, it had hit her full force that he was really leaving, There was no guarantee as to when he would be back, or even _if_ he would be back. She knew dismantling Moriarty's network would have to be dangerous and pose a threat to Sherlock's life, even if he did not say so in so many words. Although he estimated a year or less, he could not be certain that would be so. God-willing it would be less than that. If it were more though, he had told her to move on. She understood, but did not know that she'd ever be able to move on, even if it took a lifetime.

Even as they had eaten the chips and drunk the wine that had been in her fridge for so long, she felt herself loosening the reins on her emotions. The alcohol served to relax her inhibitions as well, and when Sherlock asked to be closer to her, she willingly agreed. She wanted the same. She did love him after all. She had the long term plans for commitment to him. Right or wrong, her body craved his, even as she knew his craved hers as well. She could see it in his eyes when he looked at her, felt it when his body was against hers.

His kisses were so ardent, so passionate that she lost herself to them, and then he had not just taken it for granted that she would let him seduce her, it was the fact that he asked her permission which broke her walls once and for all.

 _"I want you, to make love to you, to be one with you. Will you...will you allow it?"_ His voice was so hesitant, yet so full of longing that she could not deny him what she herself wanted, she wanted to give herself utterly to the man she loved. No, they had no formal commitment but she fully believed it would eventually happen, when he came back from wherever he was going.

That was her last logical thought, when he swept her up into his arms in triumph and carried her to the bedroom.

He laid her gently on the bed, then lay beside her, kissing her again, this time moving his mouth downward to explore her breasts, and she gasped at this new sensation. She felt his hands moving to remove her trousers, and she raised her body to accommodate his quest, then reciprocated with his own clothes, until nothing separated them.

Her hand travelled a path of exploration down Sherlock's body, feeling what she was too shy to look at, understanding how much he wanted her. Then he too was doing the same, bringing out overwhelming sensations that finally overcame her as she arched into him.

"Please, Sherlock," she gasped, knowing he understood. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders as he slowly, so as not to hurt her, took possession of her body and joined with her in the unique way designed for a man and woman.

Then her fingers were no longer digging into him, instead they were around his neck as he kissed her over and over, even as he moved and her body responded. And she knew she was his, utterly and completely. This wasn't about sex at all, it was the union of two people in an act of love. She could not have been with him like that if the love wasn't there.

Even afterwards, she could feel only a little guilt at consummating their relationship before any type of formal commitment, she loved this man and it had been wonderful, perfect. Despite their inexperience, it was as if their bodies had been waiting to be together, fashioned for each other. Whether he was ready to acknowledge it or not, Molly knew Sherlock was her soulmate. He was the man she wanted to be with for the rest of her life.

As he held her in his arms, their bodies pressed closely together, he kissed her hair, saying "Thank you, Molly. Thank you for that gift. I will cherish it and remember this night always." His voice was a little hesitant as he added, "I...I hope I was adequate to your expectations."

Molly giggled. "Sherlock, it isn't as if I have any point of reference, but um yeah, I'd say you met my expectations, exceeded them actually. I couldn't have asked for anything more wonderful than what you gave me. Thank you for your gift to me as well." Then she could not help asking shyly herself, "Did I...was I okay too?"

His arms tightened around her. "Sweetheart, you were perfect. I wish to God I didn't have to leave. I'd really like to explore this new aspect of our relationship more."

Molly sighed. She was dreading the following day even more now. "I wish you didn't have to leave either. Do you think you'll be able to stay in touch with me?"

"Probably not," he said regretfully. "Mycroft has told me I will be working undercover in several Eastern Europe countries. Apparently Moriarty enjoyed working with terrorists cells more than anything else."

Molly raised her head slightly from his warm chest to look up at him and asked, "Sherlock, will you be at the funeral?"

His hand caressed her cheek gently. "Yes. You can look for me. I'll be in a heavy disguise of course, in the back, bearded and with a hat."

Molly couldn't help the quiver in her voice as she said, "When I do my eulogy, I'll look for you. Mine is the last one scheduled. Will you signal me somehow, like a last goodbye?"

His lips twitched. "If that's what you want. I'll pretend to stroke my beard. Seeing as you are the last one, I'll be able to quietly leave after that, before anyone else."

Unexpectedly, Molly felt tears come to her eyes. It was going to be agony to say goodbye to him. She tried not to let Sherlock know she was crying, but those tears plopped onto his bare chest and she knew he felt them.

"Sweetheart, don't cry, I'll come back to you," he assured her in a deep voice.

Molly thrilled at the unintentional endearment, it was the second time he had used it. She didn't know if he even knew he had said it. "Promise?"

"I promise." And despite the fact that she knew he could not possibly know that for certain, she felt comforted.

They slept then for a few hours. Molly woke to Sherlock's lips on hers, kissing her insistently as his hands travelled over her body. She gave herself over to their passion and they made love again before she had to get up and prepare for the day ahead. Before she got up, she glanced over at the photo of the two of them, which was now openly displayed on her nightstand. She was his, and he was hers. One day, when he returned, she hoped they would be able to share their newfound relationship with everyone. Surely a year would pass quickly, and perhaps he would even return sooner?

Once Molly was ready to leave for the funeral service, Sherlock took her in his arms and said, "Until I leave London after my gravestone has been erected, I'll be able to use the phone Mycroft provided for me, so I'll text you, okay? Be safe, my Molly."

"Thank you, that makes it easier for me, knowing I'll be able to talk with you for at least awhile longer," she responded. They kissed one last time and she left.

The funeral was tough on everyone. Molly looked around at the almost full church, mostly filled with fans of Sherlock Holmes, ones who did not believe he was a fraud. Undoubtedly, if he had not had his reputation trashed, the church would not have been able to contain all the people who had come to mourn. The service was very moving, and the eulogies by John, Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson were heart wrenching.

Molly had been worried that she would not be able to muster the sincere grief she had to show during her eulogy, but she looked out over the people and spied a lone man in a beard near the back. As she talked, she glanced over at the man several times and saw him stroking his beard. That was when the grief really hit her. He was there, yet he was not. Her future and his was uncertain. She held in the sobs until she finished speaking. The disguised Sherlock left immediately and it was then she could not contain herself any longer as sobs wracked her body. A sympathetic Mrs. Hudson comforted her, which made Molly feel even worse, because she was lying to the woman and Sherlock's friends.

She went home to an empty flat and cried even more, giving herself a headache. When she finally composed herself, she thought about the perfect night with Sherlock and had a sudden fear. They hadn't even thought to use protection. She mentally calculated her cycle, then realised with relief that it was highly unlikely she could fall pregnant when her period had only ended three days earlier.

It was a relief when Sherlock started texting her, it made her feel closer to him he was bored, by all accounts. He was impatient to leave London and do what he had to do. Mycroft had informed him the gravestone was to be ready in under a week after the funeral.

 _I honestly don't know why I'm here, Molly,_ he texted. _Mycroft has not even discussed what is going on, I might have just stayed with you and we could have had some more precious days together._

 _I wish we could have had more time too, Sherlock,_ she responded.

Four days later, her heart skipped a beat when Sherlock texted her out of the blue while she was at work.

 _Managed to slip out for a few hours. Mycroft had to head out on some urgent government business, so I took the opportunity to sneak out and pay cash for a motel room. I'll be waiting._

He had furnished her with the name of the motel and the room number. As soon as her shift ended, she took a taxi to the address and nervously knocked at the door.

A man with sunglasses and a beanie answered the door to her, and at first she thought she'd made a mistake, until he said, "Molly, you're here."

She stepped into the small motel room and he closed and locked the door. Then he pulled off the beanie and dark glasses, before crushing her to his body, kissing her passionately.

She kissed him back with just as much ardour and all the love she felt for him. It wasn't long before clothes were discarded and they fell onto the bed, laughing.

Nothing else mattered but that they were together again, one last time, unexpectedly. They made the most of it, spending very little time in sleep when they could be kissing and making love.

It was the last time they would see each other face to face before he left.

Less than a week later, Molly got one last text from Sherlock.

 _I have to go now. Don't forget me, Molly. I'll try and get back to you as quickly as I can. xOX._

 _I'll be waiting XX_ , she texted back and that was it.

 _Please keep him safe, God, and bring him back to me_ , she prayed silently that night before going to bed, and she knew it was a prayer she would continue to repeat for as long as he was gone.

A week later, Toby disappeared and Molly was crushed. First, she had lost the man she loved, and now, her cat. She wasn't sure why he had disappeared, but he had moped around the flat after Sherlock left, and she suspected the animal had formed an attachment to Sherlock and had gone out to search for him one day, unsuccessfully of course.

Fortunately or perhaps unfortunately, depending on how you looked at it, Molly did not have much opportunity to grieve her loss, because another week later, she stared at the two pink lines on the stick in front of her.

She was pregnant.

She and Sherlock had conceived a baby during that last night together. She had not even considered the possible ramifications of that night until afterwards, too caught up in the moment, in the joy of being with him once again.

Molly tried to hide her pregnancy for as long as possible. The further it progressed, the more shapeless the garments she wore until finally, the day after one where she had called in sick for the third time due to morning sickness, Mike had called her into his office.

"Molly," he said gently. "I've seen some changes in you lately. You've called in sick three times now, which is very unlike you, and you seem to occasionally have trouble during post-mortems. I've also noticed you crying several times. You're pregnant, aren't you?"

"Yes," she whispered, biting her lip in nervous anticipation of what Mike might say next.

Fortunately, Mike was much too tactful to ask who the father might be. Everyone knew she was not involved with anyone, so once word got around, people just assumed she had had a one-night stand (even though it seemed out of character for her), and left it at that. People were supportive and Mike tried to lighten her schedule as much as possible, handing over the task of performing post-mortems to other pathologists. It wasn't as if Sherlock was around anymore to complain about them not doing their job properly, after all. It was so strange too, the hospital felt different without Sherlock's dominating presence, wrong somehow, and Molly felt his absence acutely.

When Molly was eight months pregnant and had started her maternity leave, she was unsure of what to do when the baby came, so she turned to the one person who had befriended her who she knew would be sympathetic to her cause and took her into her confidence.

Mrs. Hudson, the sweet lady, was surprised, yet delighted that dear, departed Sherlock had finally found someone to have a relationship with, and that there would be a baby to "carry on the family name," although she expressed some surprise that Sherlock was not gay, as she had previously surmised.

"Poor John would be so broken-hearted if he knew his unrequited love for Sherlock would never have led anywhere," remarked the landlady sadly.

Molly was highly amused at that. Mrs. Hudson had seen John with women and according to Sherlock, he had had several girlfriends as well since the men had been sharing a flat, so Molly thought it unlikely that John harboured any affection for Sherlock beyond that of a brotherly type love, but she did not bother arguing the point with Mrs. Hudson. She had more important things to think about.

In order to minimise the reality of her relationship with Sherlock though, Molly had merely said they had had an unexpected encounter shortly before Sherlock's death. Molly hoped the baby would arrive early, but knowing that even if she didn't (and by this time Molly knew she was having a girl), Mrs. Hudson would just assume the baby was making a late arrival. Molly also pleaded with Mrs. Hudson not to tell anyone about the paternity of the baby, and the older woman agreed, understanding the need for Molly to keep her secret for now. She did suggest, however, that at some point Sherlock's parents should be told. After all, it was only fair that they should know their son had left an heir.

"Although I just cannot understand why they didn't attend the funeral," confided Mrs. Hudson. "Perhaps their grief was too great, but still..." she trailed off sadly.

Molly knew that Sherlock's parents were aware of the fact that he was not actually dead, he had confided that to her himself, but of course, she couldn't tell Mrs. Hudson that. Instead, she merely nodded sympathetically and assured the woman that she would, one day, alert them to the fact of their grandchild's existence.

When Molly gave birth to Victoria Faith Hooper a month later, Mrs. Hudson was in attendance, and determined to act as surrogate grandmother for the infant. That elderly woman was delighted, as was Molly, to see the baby had Sherlock's blue-green eyes.

After three months, Moly returned to work, and Mrs. Hudson was firmly ensconced as permanent babysitter.

The one year mark of Sherlock's absence came and went and she heard nothing. Molly was devastated. She had tried to contact Mycroft, but the older Holmes brother had not responded to her texts. When another six months went by, Molly finally lost hope. She felt sure that Sherlock would have contacted her if he had been able to, to ask her to continue waiting for him, and for the first time she allowed herself to believe the very real possibility that he might have died while trying to dismantle Moriarty's network. Although Sherlock had downplayed the danger, she had known that it wouldn't be easy, and perhaps this time, his luck had run out. It seemed her prayers for Sherlock had gone unanswered after all.

With that depressing thought in mind, Molly returned the photo of Sherlock and herself to the drawer of her nightstand, after pressing her lips to the image of Sherlock through the cool, lifeless glass of the frame and whispering to it, "I'll always love you."

She allowed herself to be persuaded to go to a pub to celebrate a colleague's birthday. There, at the other end of the pub, she saw a tall man with curly black hair who had his back to her, wearing a black coat. Without thought, she dashed up to him, crying, "You're back!"

The man turned, and to her great embarrassment and disappointment, she saw it was not Sherlock. In fact, upon closer inspection, this man was taller and younger than Sherlock, although, interestingly enough he bore a vague resemblance to Sherlock in the way he styled his hair. The man struck up a conversation with her after the way she had approached him. He was definitely interested.

At the end of the evening, he asked for her number and she gave it to him. Tom seemed nice enough. Sherlock had been gone for over eighteen months and she recalled again his words, telling her to move on with her life if he was gone for more than a year. She had waited an extra six months, at least. It was time to move on with her life, without him.

So Molly did move on, with Tom. Tom was everything Sherlock was not. He was staid, predictable, dependable, average in every way, and he liked a drink at the pub with his mates on the weekend. But he did care for her. He had even accepted her baby, stating that her past didn't matter to him. He pursued Molly relentlessly until she gave in.

They had been going out for five months when Tom, out of the blue, proposed in front of his family. It was so unexpected, that Molly felt too surprised to say anything other than yes. She suspected afterwards that he had proposed, hoping their engagement would mean she would sleep with him. But she still refused, telling him clearly that, despite the fact she had a baby, it had been a drunken one-night-stand, and she had no intention of taking any more chances of an accidental pregnancy. Reluctantly, he had agreed, and did not pressure her too much.

She had showed him her purity ring early in their relationship and explained her views on abstinence, feeling slightly guilty. She hadn't kept to those views with Sherlock and she knew she was being hypocritical, but it had been different with Sherlock, she reasoned to herself. She had fully believed Sherlock would come back to her, that they would pick up where they left off and eventually marry.

Once she and Tom were engaged though, she had to wonder at times why she could have been with Sherlock without a formal commitment, yet couldn't bring herself to consummate her relationship with Tom who _had_ given her a ring. Finally, Molly had had to conclude that Sherlock was her weakness, and that kind of passion only happened once in a lifetime. He was her soulmate and only one of those existed for a person, but she did believe it was possible to find happiness with someone else, it was just a different kind of love, a comfortable one. Tom's kisses did not affect Molly the way Sherlock's did. They were nice enough, but she did not feel any overwhelming desire rising within her when they kissed. But she promised herself that once she and Tom were married, she would do her best to make it up to him for being patient with her.

Tom had only met Victoria on a couple of occasions. Mrs. Hudson was a solicitous babysitter and a Godsend to Molly. Her life had become a routine of taking care of the baby, going to work, and seeing Tom on the weekends.

Soon after Molly accepted Tom's ring, she was delighted to see the news announcements that finally cleared Sherlock's name. It had taken longer than expected, but she was glad at least people would no longer consider him a fraud.

A couple weeks after that, just over two years after Sherlock had left, Molly took off her engagement ring and put it on a little dish by her kitchen sink, as she did each day before work. She didn't like to wear her ring to work. It was always catching on her latex gloves, so it was easier to just leave it home. She always put it on after work though. She headed over to Mrs. Hudson's and dropped off the baby, who by now was a lively fifteen-month-old and a bright one at that. She already knew several words and could identify colours when asked to point to them. Victoria was definitely Sherlock's daughter.

When Molly finished work that day, she went to the locker room to hang up her lab coat as usual. She had just opened the door when her heart almost stopped at the sight that met her glance in the mirror.

Sherlock was back, but he was six months too late. She turned to look at his smiling face, split lip and all. Apparently he had been in some sort of altercation. It was probably John, she decided. He would have seen John first of course, and she was sure it would have been a shock for the doctor to find his friend was alive and that he had been deceived by the detective. She and John had lost touch since Sherlock's funeral. He had been grieving his lost friend, and Molly had felt it would be too difficult to stay silent about the truth if she continued to spend time with him.

Her eyes blurred with tears of both joy and sorrow as Sherlock stepped towards her. Then she was being held tightly in his arms and he was kissing her, kissing her the way she remembered, the way she had dreamed he would for so many long months. She almost lost herself to his kiss, feeling that long ago passion resurface as strongly as it had when they had last been together, but then she remembered it was too late for them. Sorrowfully, she gently lifted her hands to his shoulders and pushed him away.

He seemed puzzled, but not suspicious about why she had withdrawn from him. Most likely he assumed she was just overwhelmed by his unexpected return. He lifted a hand to caress her cheek. "I missed you, Molly."

She closed her eyes for a moment, remembering the way those hands had caressed her face before, her body, and the way she had responded to him. "I missed you too, Sherlock," she told him honestly. "You've been gone two years," she pointed out, rather unnecessarily.

He gave her a rather grim smile. "I know. Dismantling Moriarty's network was a little more difficult than I or my brother had anticipated. I have some things to take care of, but when I've got it all settled, will you come and see me?"

"Of course," she said. She knew he had to be told about his daughter, so that would be as good a time as any other. Then she suddenly realised, Sherlock would probably want to see Mrs. Hudson to ask for his flat back. Mrs. Hudson had told Molly she had not had the heart to let it out again, everything in there remained as it was when Sherlock and John lived there. Molly needed to hurry and pick up her baby. "Uh, I need to go. I'll wait to hear from you," she told Sherlock as she turned back to her locker, hung up her coat and grabbed her handbag to leave the hospital, even as he put his dark sunglasses and beanie back on in preparation to leave on his own next errand, which she hoped would not be Baker Street. She had to get there first.

She hesitated before leaving and turned back to him. "Are you headed to Baker Street now?"

Sherlock adjusted his beanie. "Not yet. I thought I'd go see my old friend Lestrade first. Why do you ask?" He cocked a curious eyebrow at her.

"No...no reason," she stammered hastily, even as she breathed an inward sigh of relief. She'd have time to collect Victoria and leave before he got there. "Mrs. Hudson will be very surprised to see you, and delighted too, I'm sure." Without waiting for his response, she hurried out of the locker room and headed out of the hospital.

* * *

 **Author's note:** Well, of course there had to be consequences for Sherlock and Molly's actions, didn't there? I must admit, I'm quite a fan of the whole parentlock thing, so this is an aspect I wanted to explore, to see how well I could add in a child for them while keeping to the canon of the series. Are you curious to see where I will take this?

How do you think Sherlock is going to deal with the fact that he is a father? Will he be happy or upset?


	10. Shocks For Sherlock

Sherlock was in a great mood. He had a lot of horrible memories from his time spent dismantling Moriarty's network, but now at last, he was home. There had been times during his absence from London, where he had feared he would not make it out alive. Not many people understood just how dangerous the situations had been in which he had put himself. He had sailed through the first year of missions with barely a scratch and had felt as if he had been born under a lucky star. He knew Molly would have said otherwise. She would have told him God was the one who had brought him through.

He thought often of those two special nights they had spent together, and was well aware that Molly had made a sacrifice, setting aside her own beliefs in order for them to share that intimacy. He couldn't regret what had happened, and he hoped she didn't as well. He had felt almost as if he was going off to war, and that he might not be coming back. Sharing themselves with one another had been unforgettable, glorious.

He had missed her terribly, had dreamed of touching her soft skin, feeling her body beneath his and their lips connecting in their lovers embrace. It had sustained him Through those lonely months.

When a year had passed and he was still ensconced in his deep cover operation, he had thought of her and hoped she hadn't given up on him. The last six months were by far the hardest. Penetrating that cell in Serbia had been incredibly difficult and the consequences of being discovered as a spy had left him wounded physically beyond anything he could have imagined. At times, he had even longed for death to escape the pain. But deep within himself, he still wanted to return home, to see the beloved features of the woman he loved again.

Now, finally, after two years the mission was over. He was beaten, bruised and rather thinner than he had been when he left, but his mind was still intact and all he wanted to do was see his pathologist.

Mycroft had informed him on the plane ride back to London that his name had finally been cleared and that he would be free to resume his old life. First though, after Mycroft had taken care of his immediate needs, getting him shaved, returning to him his beloved Belstaff and his wallet which had remained untouched during his absence, he had gone to see John.

On the way, he opened his wallet and pulled out the photo, drinking in the sight of Molly and himself in an image he had only been able to view in his mind palace for the last two years. His heart yearned for her, as did his body. As soon as he had seen John, he planned to go to the hospital and see Molly next.

The encounter wit John had not gone too well. He had thought to make a bit of a joke about being back, but his old friend didn't see it that way, leaving him with a split lip and bloody nose. Oh well, they were a small inconvenience compared with the still rather raw wounds on his back. Sherlock had managed to clean up the blood from his nose before he went to see Molly at the hospital, but unfortunately, his lip was still obviously swollen.

He had put on dark glasses and covered his hair with a beanie, then headed up to the locker room at the time he knew Molly was due to finish work. He took off his disguise and waited. It had been rather fun to surprise her in her locker mirror. _She looks exceedingly beautiful with her hair in a side braid,_ he had noted, as his eyes hungrily drank in her appearance when she turned to look at him. She was not wearing any jewellery, he observed. He could see tears in her eyes as he walked towards her and captured her lips with his own.

He had been thoroughly enjoying it, despite the discomfort from the split in his lip, but she had not allowed the kiss to go on for too long. He supposed it was rather a shock for him to turn up unexpectedly that way. At least she hadn't reacted in the same manner as John, despite his long absence.

He watched Molly exit the locker room in a hurry, wondering what was so urgent, but turned his attention towards his next port of call.

Having successfully revealed himself to Lestrade, who took it well, he headed to Baker Street and Mrs. Hudson who was, as he expected, completely shocked. After reassuring herself that he was indeed alive and not a ghost coming to haunt her after two years, she gave him a strange look and said something he did not understand, "Oh boy, do you hav some surprises coming your way. Does Molly know you are alive?"

It was a rather odd thing for her to say. He admitted then that Molly had helped him fake his death and she seemed rather unsurprised, almost as if she knew he and Molly had been more than friends, but how would that be possible? Had Molly said something to his landlady? He decided to not say anything, but wait until he had a chance to ask Molly about that himself.

To Sherlock's relief, his flat was still available, and Mrs. Hudson immediately welcomed him back as a tenant. He got himself settled back into 221B.

Then he went out to do something important he needed to do. It was time to show Molly he was invested in his relationship with her, that time had not served to dampen his feelings for her, but rather, to elevate them. He was ready to declare his love for her.

When he returned home, he texted Molly, asking her to come over, and she responded in the affirmative. Then he put on his favourite dressing gown for fortitude and began to pace the flat, mentally calculating how long it would take before she would arrive.

Forty-five minutes later, he heard the doorbell ring and as usual, Mrs. Hudson answered it. Apparently, she had been having a lovely chat with the landlady because it was several minutes before he heard Molly ascend the stairs. He stood at the window, trying to act casual, knowing that his heart was thumping madly in his chest. He had a plan, to invite her to spend a day as his assistant, and after that, take her out for chips and discuss their future. He loved Molly Hooper, and tonight he would tell her so, and he would prove it too.

He turned around at her shy, "You wanted to see me?"

When she asked if he wanted to have dinner at the same time he asked if she wanted to solve crimes, Sherlock knew she still cared about him.

He took her hands in his. "We can have dinner later, but for now, you'll be my assistant for the day, won't you?"

She pulled her hands away from his and he furrowed his brow. What was going on?

"Sherlock, there's something I need to tell you. Uh, a lot has happened since you've been gone."

He was about to answer her when the doorbell rang. "Oh, that's my first client. Can this wait?"

she bit her lip and nodded. "I...guess it will have to."

As the day progressed, and Sherlock was able to deduce that one of his clients had a despicable stepfather, he said to the young woman, "And you really thought he was the one, didn't you, the love of your life?" He cast Molly a meaningful look and their eyes met. He wondered if Molly understood the hidden message for her, even as he stood and explained softly to her that the stepfather was the one posing as her online boyfriend who had disappeared, leaving her heartbroken, just so he could keep her at home and could continue collecting income from her job.

Oh yes, Molly filled in quite effectively as an assistant, both at his flat and then later at a crime scene Lestrade called him in on.

Somewhat to his surprise, after he informed Molly about Lestrade's request, she asked if she could just pop downstairs for a moment to see Mrs. Hudson. He was fine with that, busy collecting the hat to return to Shilcott, his next errand after detouring to Lestrade's crime scene. He assumed Molly was just making a quick visit to be polite to the elderly landlady. That was typical of Molly - she always asked how Mrs. Hudson's hip was doing, he remembered that from the infamous Christmas party.

He was just coming down the stairs when Molly came out of Mrs. Hudson's flat. _Mrs. Hudson must be going deaf,_ he thought, _that television baby's crying is very loud, it almost sounds as if the baby is right there in her flat._ "Ready?" he asked Molly.

"Ready," she responded, walking quickly outside.

The Lestrade case was a letdown, someone had clearly perpetrated a hoax. The Shilcott case though was rather more intriguing - a man disappearing from a train car in between stations. The entire time he was at the train enthusiast's flat, Sherlock kept glancing at Molly. He couldn't help himself. He had missed her so much and here she was, spending time with him, he could feel the electric energy passing between them when they looked at each other, and he couldn't wait for the next part of their evening.

After they left Shilcott, Molly asked what he meant by taking her out for the day, and he almost laughed. Was she really so blind to what he wanted? Perhaps she was just acting coy.

He fingered the velvet box in his pocket as he reached the bottom of the stairs and told Molly she was the one person who mattered the most. It was only at that moment his gaze dropped momentarily as he considered the ring he had bought that he wished to place on her finger, and discovered that her finger was not bare. His stomach plummeted, even as he put on a brave face. He put his hands behind his back in a stoic position and wished her all the best, even as his heart broke. He was too late, he'd been gone too long. Why hadn't he asked her to wait two years? he thought, as pain tore through him.

Then he wondered why she hadn't been wearing a ring at the hospital. It had certainly not been there when he had kissed her. It was the first thing he'd checked for, just in case.

After he left Molly behind, after offering the obligatory congratulations and well wishes, he walked blindly to Joe's Fish Shop and got his usual serving. His thoughts were in disarray. Now he understood why Molly had broken off their kiss, why she had pulled her hands from his. He had lost her to another man.

As soon as he arrived home, he knocked on Mrs. Hudson's door. When she answered it, he asked tersely, "Did you know Molly Hooper was engaged?"

She looked at him sympathetically. "Is she, dear? Now why would I know that?"

He had the distinct feeling she was lying and wondered why, but did not press her. He was too upset.

The arrival of Mary, John's fiancée/almost fiancée distracted him for a time. He ended up rescuing John from a bonfire. He didn't know who had kidnapped his friend, but at least one good thing had come out of it. John forgave him. When he got home though, he had felt a sudden need to text Molly.

 _I suppose your engagement is what you needed to tell me about?_

Her response came almost immediately.

 _Not just that. Please come by my flat as soon as possible. There's something else._

He was tempted to ignore her text, but curiosity got the better of him. Besides, he wanted to know why she had not been wearing a ring when he saw her at the hospital.

 _I'll be right there._

He went outside and took a taxi straight to her flat. Molly opened the door immediately, as if she had been standing at the door, waiting. She stood aside and allowed him to enter.

The words came out of his mouth before he could stop them. "Why weren't you wearing a ring when I saw you at the hospital? If I had known you had got yourself engaged to another man, I would never have kissed you."

Molly blushed. "I don't wear it at work. It catches on the latex gloves, so I just put it on when I come back home."

"You should have said something, then," he grated, crossing his arms and she flinched.

"I tried to tell you this afternoon," she said, giving him a pleading look.

He shook his head. He was having none of that. "You could have texted me, Molly. Don't pretend you didn't know I wanted to pick up where we left off."

She put her face in her hands. "I'm sorry, Sherlock," she said, and her voice was thick with tears.

He curled his lip disdainfully. "So, how long _did_ you wait for me, then? Did you even wait a year?" He knew he was being cruel, but he couldn't help it. His heart was breaking.

She lifted her head and he saw the tears running down her cheeks. "I waited eighteen months, Sherlock, with not a word from you. After that, I started thinking you must be dead, because I was sure you would have found a way to contact me if you were still alive."

Sherlock suddenly felt remorse sweep over him. She was right. He had not contacted her. Granted, it would have been difficult, given the circumstances of his deep cover operation, but perhaps he could have asked Mycroft to at least tell Molly he was out there, even though it would undoubtedly have meant uncomfortable explanations as to why Molly needed to know he was still alive and kicking. So he couldn't fault her entirely for moving on, although he still felt bitterness at losing her. He listened as Molly continued.

"So after eighteen months I went to a birthday party at a pub and met Tom. He was nice, and I was lonely. He asked me out and eventually, when he kept inviting me out, I accepted." Her voice was low, begging for him to understand but once again, Sherlock felt anger welling up within himself at the thought of Molly being in the arms of another man.

"I suppose once you'd had sex, you wanted more of it, huh?" he said cuttingly, wanting to wound her as he felt wounded.

Then he saw anger in her eyes through her tears. "No, Sherlock. As a matter of fact, Tom and I have _not_ slept together."

His brows furrowed at that, even as he felt a secret surge of gladness spread through him. "Why not?" he couldn't help asking, even though it was none of his business.

Molly put her hands on her hips and glared at him. "I didn't ask you to come here to grill me about my sex life, or lack of one, Sherlock! I asked you here because there's something else you need to know."

He unfolded his arms and put his hands into his pockets. "I just can't wait to find out," he said coolly.

"Wait here," she instructed, and he was sure he heard a hint of nervousness in her voice. Now what?

He waited, wondering what she was doing. She walked to her second bedroom and came back a minute later. His mouth opened in astonishment first, then he swallowed hard. She was carrying a baby.

He stared at the child. Why had Molly called him over tonight if she was babysitting?

Then Molly moved closer to him and the baby looked up at the stranger. It was at that moment, when the little girl stared at him with his own eyes that he knew. "Oh. My. God." he whispered.

He looked from the baby, to Molly. "How did this happen?"

"The usual way, Sherlock. We made love on our last night together without considering the consequences of not using protection. We made a baby. End of story." She was holding her daughter against her protectively, as if for strength.

He gulped. He could feel himself going into buffering mode and tried to stop it from happening by speaking. "Who...who else knows?"

"That she's yours?" At his nod, she responded, "Only Mrs. Hudson."

He suddenly understood then what Mrs. Hudson had said to him. _"Oh boy, do you have some surprises coming your way. Does Molly know you are alive?"_

Now it made sense. It also made sense why she had been cagey about whether she knew Molly was engaged. But why did Mrs. Hudson know? He had to ask.

"Why does she know about our baby, when nobody else does?"

Molly flushed slightly. "Sherlock, I have no family, except for a mother I haven't spoken with in years. I had nobody to turn to and didn't know how I would cope with a baby and a job." She licked her lips and continued. "I know she cared a lot about you, so I took a chance and told her we had been together, just once, before you 'died'. She has been so good to me, Sherlock. She has looked after the baby whenever I needed her to, ever since our daughter was born. She's been like her grandmother."

Sherlock took a moment and processed this information, he couldn't fault Molly, under the circumstances. It wasn't as if she had betrayed their secret after all, that he was still alive. In fact, he supposed it was rather fortuitous that Molly had had some support with her baby. He suddenly remembered the sound of a crying baby coming from Mrs. Hudson's flat.

"The baby stayed with her when we went out together, didn't she?" he questioned, sure of the answer. "I thought you spent a long time chatting before coming upstairs."

Molly nodded. "Yes. I was going to bring Victoria upstairs with me but Mrs. Hudson said we should get reacquainted first before I broke the news to you." She offered a wry smile.

Sherlock ran a hand through his hair. "That was probably for the best, especially in light of the fact I was expecting clients soon afterwards."

The baby, who had been gazing at him in fascination, turned her face back to Molly and whimpered, "Mama."

"It's okay, sweetheart," crooned Molly in a tone Sherlock had never heard before. "This is your daddy. He's been gone a long time but now he's back." Molly looked at him. "And I hope he will want to be a part of your life."

He reached out a hand gingerly to touch the little girl's face. She looked like Molly, he decided, except for those tell-tale Holmes eyes.

"Can I...can I hold her, Molly?" he ventured, hardly daring to believe that this child was his flesh and blood.

"Of course you can." She held out the child and he gently took her, then held her close to himself. The baby whimpered for a second, then calmed, almost as if she recognised him. Even as he held her, he felt a wave of emotion surge through him. He felt protective of this baby. How could he have not known she existed?

He looked over the child's head at the woman who mattered the most to him, despite the fact she was engaged to someone else. "I'm sorry I wasn't here for you, If I had been, I would have done the right thing, I would have married you."

Molly sighed. "Sherlock, I would not have wanted you to propose to me just because I was having your baby. I would have wanted it because you loved me and wanted to spend your life with me, baby or no baby."

He wasn't really paying attention to Molly at that moment, more engrossed in the fact that the baby had found one of his curls and was tugging at it. "What's her name?"

"Victoria," was Molly's response.

"Does she have a middle name?" he asked, raising his eyes from the baby back to Molly.

"Faith." Her voice was soft, as was her expression as she looked at the two of them.

"Victoria I can understand, it's a fine, royal name, but why Faith?" he asked.

The answer surprised him. "Because I had faith you would come back to me."

"Oh." That had been a really sweet thing of her to do. The baby was tugging harder now at his hair. "Easy there, little one," he complained, gently disengaging her fist. The child immediately thrust out her lower lip, which began to tremble.

 _Such a fascinating little thing,_ he marvelled. He couldn't get over it, that she was his. Then his thoughts turned towards Todd or whoever he was, who would be his daughter's stepfather.

"I don't want her calling that man of yours 'Daddy' or some such nonsense," he said roughly, hating the way his voice betrayed his jealousy at the thought of another man spending time with his daughter. He continued on, hoping Molly hadn't noticed. "So he doesn't know who the father of your child is?"

Victoria's hand crept back up to tug at another of his curls. _You're as bad as your mother,_ he thought, remembering the way Molly's fingers had often tangled in his curls when they had been kissing or making love. His heart ached at the thought, even as longing for Molly swept through him again, despite himself.

"I told you, only Mrs. Hudson knows that," Molly responded. "He thinks I had too much to drink one night and accidentally got pregnant. I mean, it was an accident of course, but I used it as an excuse. I...told him I wouldn't sleep with him because I didn't want to take the chance of another accidental pregnancy."

Sherlock thought about that for a moment. Then he came to a perfectly logical conclusion. Molly's feelings were obviously not as strong for what's-his-name as they had been for himself, so surely she could just break off her engagement. She could marry him instead and they could raise their daughter together, the way things should be. "Well, I'm back now, so you can just break it off with him, can't you?"

Molly looked shocked at his suggestion. "Sherlock, that wouldn't be right. Tom was there for me when you weren't."

"Not by choice," he bit out heatedly. "I would have been back sooner if I could have been. I was too busy getting beaten to a pulp by the Serbian terrorist cell who discovered I was a spy."

The baby whimpered again, seeming to hear the angry tone of his voice and he tried to awkwardly comfort her, raising a thumb to her cheek and stroking it. Such soft, delicate skin, he thought absently.

Molly put her hands to her mouth. "Dear God, Sherlock. I'm so sorry."

Sherlock's lips tightened as he looked at the mother of his child. "Never mind that now. I just want to know - will you or will you not break off your engagement, now that I'm back?"

Molly's eyes filled with tears. "I...I can't do that to him, Sherlock. I just can't. I owe him my loyalty."

And those words broke him. He knew he had lost, he had asked her to break off her engagement, and she had refused.

His own eyes burned with tears he refused to shed as he thrust the child back at Molly. The baby immediately began to wail, even as he felt her pull several strands of hair painfully from his head.

"Well, I hope you have a bloody brilliant life with Tim, or Tom, or what's his name." He turned away from her and strode towards the front door. He had to get out of there before he was tempted to beg her to reconsider.

Her voice arrested him just before he reached the door. "So, you...you don't want to see her again?" she choked out.

He turned around as tears of anguish, despite himself, seeped out from under his lashes. "What the hell kind of person do you think I am, Molly? Of _course_ I want to see her! She's my baby. I want to get to know her. Right now, though, I don't want to see you! I'll be in touch."

He turned back to the door, wrenched it open and left, slamming it behind him even as he heard Molly's sobs that matched his own grief.

He might have lost his woman but he was going to lavish all that attention on their child instead - at least, when he could get over the shock enough to move on. He shoved his hands into his Belstaff pockets and his fingers touched the velvet box that would stay unopened; the heart-shaped diamond engagement ring would be relegated to his bedside drawer, out of sight, out of mind.

Back home, after the ring box was put away, Sherlock knew there was one thing he still had to do to purge Molly from his hopes and dreams. With a heavy heart he reached for his wallet and opened it, withdrawing the long ago photo booth images of Molly and himself that had remained in his locked up wallet in Mycroft's safe for two years. He stared at the photos for a few moments, remembering that day, then placed his fingers in preparation to ripping the photos into pieces, but he hesitated. His heart couldn't let go, _he_ couldn't let go of her, not really. And now they shared a child which would bond them forever.

Instead, he put his fingers to his lips, then to the image of Molly and whispered, "I love you, Molly." He finally placed the photos to one side of the drawer, next to the ring box, underneath his sock index.

Then he sat on his bed with his head in his hands for some time and wept silent tears of loss before he gathered himself together and resigned himself to a life that meant Molly would never be his again.

* * *

 **Author's note:** And here begins the heavy angst of this story. Did you enjoy the way Molly revealed to Sherlock that he was a father? I wanted to show that she immediately wanted to do the right thing, to let him know. I did try to put in a moment of humour (Sherlock wondering if Mrs. Hudson is going deaf), but even so, it was pretty heavy-going. Of course, we knew it would be, seeing as I have stated before that this is a story that is canon compliant.

I hope you're still enjoying it and the idea of seeing Sherlock and Molly as parents, as well as how things will play out with a secret love child (and yeah, it's definitely a love child, not just some accident, even if the circumstances were accidental).

The review box below is urging you to respond with your thoughts.


	11. The Winds of Change

**Author's note:** Thanks so much to those of you who have been reviewing this story so far. It means so much to me! Thank you also to guest reviewer Hope Lejeune for taking the time to review. I would respond personally, as I do to all my reviewers, but of course, that isn't possible for guests. I hope to hear more from you and that you will be happy with the way this chapter goes! I encourage guests to join the website and enjoy interacting with your favourite authors. Be an active part of the dialogue and keep Sherlolly alive!

* * *

After Sherlock had gone, Molly buried her face in her daughter's neck and sobbed.

Victoria started to wail, not knowing what was going on, joining her mother in the sound of heartbreak.

Molly held her baby and rocked her, even as she wept. "It's okay, Victoria, we're going to be okay."

But she knew she wasn't going to be okay. She'd never be okay again. She tried so hard to do the right thing, what was best for everyone. She knew she had hurt Sherlock, but she had made a commitment to Tom, and wasn't that more important than her own selfish feelings?

Two days later, a staunchly resigned Molly received a text from John. It was a surprise, because they hadn't communicated in so long and she wondered if it had something to do with Sherlock, who of course was the reason they had met and become friendly in the first place.

 _Hey Molly, sorry to text you out of the blue like this. I didn't have your number anymore on my phone so Sherlock had to give it to me, hope that's okay. Funny how he could still remember it by heart even after so long. I wanted you to know there are no hard feelings and that I understand now why we lost touch. Sherlock told me you helped him fake his death. I was really angry with him when I found out, but we've made up our differences - long story, will tell you about that later._

Even as she gazed at the text, a second one arrived.

 _Anyway, Sherlock told me you were engaged. He seemed a little shocked about it, but wow, congratulations! He just solved a big case - prevented a train carriage from blowing up underground that would have also blown up the Palace of Westminster. I expect it will be on the news soon. So, seeing as he and I are on good terms again, I thought a celebration was in order. Want to come over for a celebratory drink to Baker Street this afternoon, at around three? Bring your fiancé too, if you like. By the way, it's a double celebration - I'm engaged too, there must be something in the water._

Molly's stomach flip-flopped at the thought of seeing Sherlock again so soon. She wondered if he knew John was inviting her. She considered refusing, but her heart won out, she couldn't help wanting to see him again, despite the way things had ended the night before.

"Thanks John. Glad you and Sherlock are back on good terms, and congratulations to you too. I'll see if Tom can make it, thanks for the invite."

She sent off the reply and then thought that obviously Sherlock had not mentioned the baby, so presumably he was not ready to share the news of being a father, which was probably the best idea, seeing as Tom also was not aware of the fact. Now _that_ was going to be an awkward conversation when the time came.

Molly pondered the question of what to do with Victoria. Undoubtedly Mrs. Hudson would be part of the celebration, so having her watch the baby was not an option. Then she thought of Tom's mother, who had expressed an interest in getting to know her future step-granddaughter. She supposed now would be as good a time as any to enlist her help with babysitting, so she texted Tom.

 _Hey - want to meet some of my friends this afternoon at 3 o'clock? ? I know you admire Sherlock Holmes, and were impressed that I knew him. As you know, he is alive and back in London, and he just solved a big case. Could your mum watch Victoria while we go out?_

The response came back a short time later. _That sounds like a lot of fun, Molls. Mum said she'd watch your baby. I'm a bit in awe of meeting the famous detective._

As usual, when seeing or hearing her name as Molls, Molly made a face. She had never been fond of that nickname, although she had not had the heart to say so to Tom.

That afternoon, Molly headed to Tom's, who still lived at home, despite being close to thirty years old. She dropped off Victoria, who was a little fussy at being left with someone she didn't know well, but it couldn't be helped. She'd eventually get used to her future step-grandmother, Molly supposed.

The couple proceeded to Baker Street. A huge crowd was outside the flat, presumably waiting to interview Sherlock about the big case he had just wrapped up. Molly realised it was the one she and Sherlock had been involved in on their day together. The remembrance made her heart flutter. He had looked so gorgeous, and it had been impossible to not make comparisons between him and not-a-sociopath Tom.

Then she caught herself for allowing her thoughts to wander in that direction again. The last thing she should be doing was thinking about Sherlock, when her fiancé was standing right next to her. She resolved to be happy and make sure everyone else knew about it, heading up the stairs to 221B.

After introducing everyone, she noticed Sherlock turn and look at Tom. She saw both the awe on Tom's face at meeting the detective, and she also saw the once-over Sherlock gave the younger man. She knew exactly what Sherlock was thinking too. " _Why would she choose this imitation over me?"_

It was funny how she could read Sherlock's thoughts so clearly, but then, she had always been perceptive when it came to the man she loved.

 _Stop it Molly, you must not love Sherlock anymore. You love Tom, he's your future husband,_ she berated herself harshly, then painted a bright smile on her face and said confidently to Lestrade when he asked if it was serious between her and Tom, "Yeah, I've moved on."

That evening, after she had returned to Tom's and picked up the baby, Molly arrived home and shortly afterwards received a terse text from Sherlock.

 _Where was our baby today_?

Of course, that made sense, he knew Mrs. Hudson wasn't babysitting.

 _She was with Tom's mother._

his response was abrupt.

 _Text me next time Mrs. Hudson is watching her._

She looked at the text. She supposed she should be glad he wanted to see their daughter, but it hurt that he did not want to see Victoria in the presence of her mother. Not that she could blame him, of course. Why would he want to be reminded that she was with someone else when he still wanted her himself? But then again, maybe her loyalty to Tom had killed any affection he might still harbour for her.

She took a deep breath and texted back, _Fine_.

As the months passed, Molly would text Sherlock to tell him when Victoria was with his landlady. With John around at Baker Street more often, it had soon been revealed that Molly had had a baby during the time they had been out of touch, but of course he did not know Sherlock was the father. Molly did not enlighten him. If Sherlock did not want to publicly acknowledge his child, that was fine. Besides, it made it easier for her and Tom. If Tom had known, he would most certainly not have been happy that the man he thought so much of was Victoria's father. She supposed eventually, when Victoria was older, she would have to admit the truth, but she tried to push those thoughts aside. She didn't want to think about that for now. When the time came, hopefully he would have bonded enough with Victoria that it would not make much of a difference. The one thing she could never admit to was that she had been in love with Sherlock.

Molly knew Sherlock was spending time with their baby when Mrs. Hudson watched her, but he never spoke to Molly about it. In fact, they didn't speak of anything outside work. It was therefore rather a surprise when Sherlock asked her advice about how much alcohol he and John could consume without becoming drunk on John's stag night.

It was funny. Sherlock all of a sudden acted as if they were good friends, rather than the distant work colleagues they had been for months. When he asked about Tom, she realised he was just, rather poorly if he was trying to be subtle, fishing for information on how things were going between Tom and herself. She didn't know why he felt it was any of his business.

She was angry that he would ask her after the way he had been acting, so she lashed out, sweetly of course, by saying she and Tom were having a lot of sex. Of course it was a lie, even though Tom was starting to get frustrated by her hesitation to set a wedding date, but she wanted to wound Sherlock for ignoring her.

Of course, Sherlock acted as if he didn't care, so who knew if he was even remotely affected by what she had said.

As John's wedding approached, Molly and Tom's relationship began to deteriorate. He was starting to pressure her to have sex, especially when he'd had a few drinks.

On the morning of the wedding, he finally said, "Molly, we've been engaged for over eight months. If you are not willing to set a wedding date after tonight, we're finished."

She was over at his place. His mum was watching the baby again. Tom'S mum was a good sort. She had never looked down on Molly for having a baby. The rest of Tom's family was nice too. They had accepted her into their midst and it felt good to be part of a family unit. She had not had people who cared for her that way before. Idly she reflected that if she and Tom did split up, she'd miss that more than anything, and then felt ashamed of herself for the thought.

Molly had gone to the wedding with every intention of setting a wedding date afterwards with her fiancé. She had stalled him enough. What she had not expected was the surge of overwhelming emotion that hit her when she saw Sherlock dressed for the wedding as best man. It was the first time she had seen him thus formally attired and her heart beat faster just looking at him.

During the reception, Molly found herself growing more and more irritated with the man to whom she was engaged. Her eyes kept drifting to Sherlock and during his speech, she twisted the ring on her finger nervously.

Tom was getting happily drunk and Molly was noticing the completely sober detective, and she was making comparisons.

When Sherlock played his violin for John and Mary, the music moved her. When he threw his boutonnière to the maid of honour from the wedding who stood beside her, she felt a surge of jealousy run through her and it was as if a lightbulb suddenly went off in her head. All these months, she had been fighting to do the right thing by Tom, to be loyal to him, and yet she had constantly put him off. Now she realised how unfair she had been. Her misplaced loyalty was costing Tom the chance to be with someone who truly loved him. At last, Molly found clarity. She was not in love with Tom. She was in love with the idea of having a family, being with people who accepted her. She'd built up a little fantasy of having the perfect family, without considering what it really meant.

When Molly saw Sherlock leave the reception, she knew she had to tell Tom it was over, and she needed to see Sherlock too and tell him she was sorry. Even if it was too late for them, he had to know. Perhaps he would forgive her and they could mend their friendship from long ago. She wasn't going to ask for anything more.

Molly took Tom aside, off the dance floor. He was completely drunk from the free wine and beer, but she hoped he wouldn't forget what she needed to say.

He looked at her expectantly. "Are you ready to set a wedding date now?" He enquired hopefully, slurring his words just a little.

"I'm so sorry, Tom," she told him gently. "You're a good man, but you're not the man for me. You deserve to be with a woman who can commit to you fully. Forgive me." She slipped off her ring and closed his fingers around it.

It was fortunate he was three sheets to the wind or he may have had a worse reaction. Instead, he just said, looking at her with sad eyes, "I guess I could see the writing on the wall, but I was hoping I was wrong." He sniffed, and suddenly seemed a little more lucid as tears came to his eyes. "Can we tell my parents it was a mutual decision?, I don't want them to know you dumped me." He didn't seem angry, merely resigned.

"Of course," she agreed hastily, "anything you want." She was very glad he was taking it so well, considering the circumstances.

"Guess I'll go have another beer," he said morosely. "Tell me when you're ready to leave." He walked off to get himself the beer.

Molly watched him go, feeling awful, although she knew in her heart that at last, she had done the right thing. She would have been miserable with Tom when she was in love with another man, and he would have been miserable with her as well.

She decided it was time to go in search of Sherlock, if indeed he was still there. He would undoubtedly be relieved that Victoria would not be having a stepfather after all.

Molly stepped outside, looked around and finally spotted Sherlock some distance from the reception hall, leaning against a tree. She didn't know why she knew, but his posture seemed defeated somehow.

His eyes met hers as she approached, but he remained silent until she reached him. Then he asked, "Shouldn't you be in there having fun with your fiancé, Molly? I saw you dancing with him."

Molly held her hand out to him. It was dark, but not so dark he could not see her now ringless finger.

He stared at her hand. "What happened? Did he ask for it back because you hadn't set a wedding date yet?"

She frowned slightly. How typical of Sherlock to make accurate deductions without even realising he was doing so. "How do you know we hadn't set a date yet?"

He shrugged casually. "Just a deduction. So, did he call it off then?"

Molly clasped her hands in front of her. "No, I did."

His eyes regarded her, deep dark pools of mystery in the dim light. "Why? I thought you and he were having _a lot of sex_ ," he said in a slightly mocking tone, and Molly knew then that Sherlock was sure she had been lying about that.

"You knew I was lying," she stated baldly.

He shrugged again. "You seemed just a little too anxious to inform me about your love life."

Molly blushed and admitted, "I only said it because all of a sudden you were acting like we were the best of friends."

He regarded her unsmilingly. "Maybe I was trying to find a way to see how things were going with you and Tim. Are you going to tell me what's going on, why you called it off?"

"Do you really care why?" she asked, searching his face for an answer, but not finding any.

"Seeing as you are the one who followed me outside, I presume you wanted to tell me," he countered in a bored tone and her heart sank.

"Never mind, Sherlock. I should have just texted you, or told John. At least now you know Victoria won't be having a second daddy." She made a move to turn around and leave him.

Suddenly Sherlock's arm shot out and his long fingers curled around her wrist. "Are you sure that's the only reason you wanted to let me know?" he said in a silky tone that made her stomach flip-flop.

He was drawing her inexorably closer and she felt suddenly breathless.

"What other reason could I have for telling you?" she asked, and she knew her voice sounded unsteady. Her heart was beating so fast, could he tell?

"I can feel your pulse racing," he informed her softly, then added, "You know what I think, Molly?" His hand on her wrist moved to draw her closer until she could see an intense look in his eyes.

 _Oh, I could drown in those eyes._ All those feelings she had tried so hard to push down were bubbling to the surface once more. "What?" she managed to get out through a suddenly dry mouth.

"I think you broke it off because you realised you made a mistake. I think you still want _me_ ," he murmured, and his breath was like a caress against her skin as his head lowered and his mouth hovered inches from hers.

And then somehow his arms were around her, changing their positions so she was the one with her back against the rough bark of the tree as he moved his body to press against her. His hands moved to clasp either side of her face and his lips claimed possession of hers. He kissed her forcefully, moving his mouth insistently against hers, until she surrendered to him and wound her arms around him. It had been so long, she thought through a haze of desire. Her hands moved to touch those beautiful curls of his. His hands shifted to rub the bare skin of her arms. She hadn't thought to put on her cardigan when she came outside, but he was heating her from within, making her forget the cooler evening air.

She gasped a little as his mouth moved to slide down to the pulse beating erratically at her throat, before returning to kissing her until her senses reeled. Finally, he removed his mouth from hers to say huskily, "Come home with me, Molly."

She was tempted, the thought of being with him again was utterly intoxicating, but then she remembered Victoria. "I...I can't, Sherlock. I need to go back to Tom's place and get Victoria. His mum is watching her tonight."

"Bring her to me. I want to see my daughter." His voice was commanding, and she couldn't refuse. He wanted to see both of them together for the first time.

"I'll...I'll bring her," she promised.

To her surprise he suddenly gave a derisive snort of laughter. "He still lives with his parents? My God, Molly, and John has the nerve to call _me_ a man-child. At least I'm not a mummy's boy."

Molly knew she should tell Sherlock off harshly for his rude comment, but she had to concede he was right. It had been a little odd that Tom, at thirty now, still lived with his parents. Instead she settled for merely saying chidingly, "No, you are definitely not a mummy's boy, Sherlock, but casting aspersions on the character of other people doesn't make you better than them."

He had the grace to look a little ashamed. "I suppose I was out of turn, but you've opened up some possibilities and that pleases me immensely." His smile at her was genuine and her heart fluttered. He was right, there were definite possibilities now, for the door that had been closed and locked months before. All of a sudden, the door had unlocked and opened a crack.

I..hope so," she managed, as those possibilities ran through her head.

His hand caressed her cheek. "Shall we explore those possibilities for a minute or two before you go back in and do what you have to do, in order to bring our daughter to me?"

She didn't answer, merely lifted her lips again in unspoken invitation and he claimed them, kissing her breathless once more before he let her go.

"See you soon," he whispered, finally allowing her to go back into the hall, and she saw the smile on his lips as she retreated.

* * *

 **Author's note:** I know I sped through several months here, re, but really, at this point Sherlock was avoiding Molly for the most part, so spending chapters of her isolation would not have made sense. After all, we want to see Sherlock and Molly interacting again don't we?

What's your head canon about Tom on why Molly seemed to be dragging her feet in marrying him? I love discussing these things with people, there are so many ways to go about it.

Poor, misguided Molly, at least she finally came to her senses. Anyway, hope you enjoyed their "reunion" and are anxious to see what happens next.


	12. A New Opportunity

**Special Note:** After being censured by a former reader for writing content she does not think appropriate for Christians to read/write, I feel I must make a statement here before I continue onto this chapter.

 _Point one:_ My stories do not contain explicit love scenes, as anyone who is a regular reader of mine know. Instead I write the celebration of love in a monogamous relationship between Sherlock and Molly. I do not personally believe that sex is a shameful thing that should be a taboo subject for Christians to discuss. I also do not believe God condemns those who read/write love stories that contain scenes of two people sharing that special intimacy that puts emphasis on the emotions and love surrounding it, rather than the act itself any more than He condemns those who read/write fantasy or stories of crime and violence. I believe the Bible is one huge love story from God to us. The Bible contains much more graphic content than anything I have ever written.

 _Point two:_ In regard to Sherlock and Molly having sex outside of marriage, which this former reader was concerned would have me leading people astray and thinking I am encouraging it by writing it (which makes no sense to me, I also have written about murder and drug usage by Sherlock, and I'm obviously not condoning that by writing it) - just because a few of my stories (and all of those are dreams which we cannot control), show Sherlock and Molly having sex before marriage, does not mean I am promoting that. In other stories and now on my profile I've made my own views clear on what I believe is God's intention for us. However, please understand, I am not the kind of Christian who is going to moralize and pretend we do not all struggle with temptation or succumb to it at times, whatever our belief system. We all have different opinions on what we constitute as moral or immoral, and it is not my job to force you to follow my way of thinking. We are all free to make our own life choices, and standing in judgment upon those who do not feel the same goes against everything I believe the Bible teaches.

In **Matthew 7:1-5** Jesus says: _"Do not judge, or you too will be judged. For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you._

 _"Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother's eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye? How can you say to your brother, 'Let me take the speck out of your eye,' when all the time there is a plank in your own eye? 5 You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother's eye."_

I certainly hope none of my readers feel I am trying to say I am in any way better than they are. I try to live my life in a manner that is pleasing to God, but I am not perfect, or even close to it. I'm just trying to share my gift for writing with others in a positive way.

* * *

 _ **Back in the Real World**_

A wailing sound woke Sherlock who had a smile on his lips that echoed the one his dream counterpart had been sporting as he watched Molly return to the reception hall. He glanced over at his wife who was still sleeping peacefully, knowing the nightshift was his job. It was amazing how Molly could sleep through the wailing, he thought. But then, she had been quite exhausted and deserved her rest.

Sherlock got out of bed and picked up the infant. "Come on, sweetheart," he told his daughter, rubbing her back soothingly as he walked to the kitchen. "Daddy's going to make you a nice bottle."

Molly had put a bottle of breast milk into the fridge for him, and Sherlock put it into the bottle warmer with one hand, while he continued to hold his newborn.

As he waited for the bottle to heat, Sherlock crooned Brahms' Lullaby to Victoria, calming her temporarily with his voice.

When the bottle was ready, he went over to his chair and sat back, with his baby in his arms, feeding her. He enjoyed watching her feed, loved holding her as he did so, even though he enjoyed even more when she was fed from her mother. There was such a special bond when you fed your baby. The peaceful little expression as she contentedly sucked on the teat was a wonderful sight to behold, and Sherlock felt a huge surge of pride as he looked at his daughter. She was such a perfect, tiny little thing, he mused, as her little fingers curled around his own finger where it held the bottle in place.

As Victoria drank, Sherlock thought about the dream he had been having. His baby in the dream was much like Victoria, but aged somewhat. It was amazing what the brain could conjure. He was curious to know whether the dream would resume. Would it follow the path of his real life or veer off in another direction?

Molly's dream from months earlier had been surprisingly factual, except for all those imagined love scenes between them, that Sherlock half-wished had actually happened. He knew though, that she would have been unlikely to compromise her values that way, even if he had known he loved her earlier.

Despite their passion for one another, they had still managed to restrain themselves from giving into temptation and having sex before their wedding night, and he still believed that had made the whole first experience even more meaningful as a result. But dreams had a tendency to follow their own direction.

Of course, he was content now. He had his Molly, and he had his precious baby too. Life was good.

Victoria fell asleep again before she had finished the bottle, and Sherlock stood, lifting his baby up and patting her back. She let out a sleepy burp and satisfied, he took the almost finished bottle to the sink and returned his daughter to her Moses basket at the side of the bed. Then Sherlock slid back into bed himself, bringing Molly close to him, as she gave a sleepy murmur and he kissed her hair.

He settled back and thought about the dream he had been having, hoping it would continue. The magic that seemed to always invade his and Molly's dreams worked and the dream continued.

…/…/…/…/ / /…/

 _ **The Dream Continues**_

Sherlock was pacing the floor of his flat. The wedding reception was over. He had seen Molly exit the reception with an obviously inebriated ex-fiancé in tow.

He was hoping she would go and collect the baby from that Tim fellow's mother and bring her to Baker Street, but he wasn't entirely sure she would come. It was almost midnight and presumably well past Victoria's bedtime. As he paced his sitting room like a caged tiger, he thought back over the events of the past several months.

Over that time he had made the effort to get to know his little daughter when she was being looked after by Mrs. Hudson. She had quite a large vocabulary now for being almost two years old. He had really wanted to teach her How to say "daddy" but had hesitated, for fear the secret would emerge and everyone would know he and Molly had had a secret relationship years earlier. Mrs. Hudson would make comments like "your daddy's here" though, and he supposed the clock was ticking in that undoubtedly explosive revelation, when it came. Things would have been different if Molly had not been with someone else. If it weren't for that blasted fiancé of hers, he was quite certain he and Molly would have been married by now and could have openly shared the fact that they had been in a relationship for some time and shared a child.

Things being as they were though, Sherlock was not sure he wanted anyone to know of his change of heart about sentiment, with all his earlier and completely untruthful talk of sentiment being a chemical defect found in the losing side. Mycroft would never let him live it down if he knew his brother was as susceptible to sentiment and sex as anyone one else. He could still recall the mocking way Irene Adler had told him Moriarty referred to him as "The Virgin". It might have been true at the time, but it certainly wasn't now, and Sherlock, despite himself, still ached to enjoy that intimacy again with the woman he still loved, would always love, no matter how many times over the last few months he had told himself to forget her.

Yet, at the same time, he was proud of being Victoria's father and wished he could proclaim it to the world. He knew his parents in particular would be over the moon at the idea of having a grandchild, when they had mentioned their despair over being the only couple in their church circle to not yet have grandchildren.

In his heart too, he cherished the fact that he and Molly would always share a bond over their child, even if they could never be together again. They had created something, someone, out of love. Perhaps the words had been unspoken, but he had known he loved Molly when they had made love, and he had been certain she felt the same way at the time. She had, after all, told him about the purity ring and what it meant to her, so giving herself to him had obviously meant a great deal to her. The fact that she had not slept with Tom was also rather telling, even if she had changed her mind on that since then. It still irked him about her misplaced loyalty to her new fiancé, which seemed to indicate her feelings were not as strong as they had been before he left London.

For some time, Sherlock had intentionally avoided Molly after she refused to break off her engagement. He had decided to give her time, only talking to her when he had to, for work, never discussing her private life. But, oh, how his heart ached on every occasion they did happen to see one another when he was working on a case where she had done the post-mortem, or was in the lab at the same time as he was looking at crime scene specimens through a microscope. On several occasions he had had to bite back words of frustration about their situation and his questions about what was happening with her engagement.

Finally, unable to stand not knowing what was going on with Molly, he approached her on the pretext of needing her help in determining optimum alcohol intake for John and himself during John's stag night. They had actually had rather a nice conversation - until she had informed him out of the blue that she and Tom were having quite a lot of sex. For a moment he'd been hurt, but then he had felt certain she was lying. He didn't know for sure whether she and the man were having some sex, or not at all, but he was definitely sure it was not "a lot of sex".

Earlier today, at the wedding, his eyes had drifted often to Molly. She looked so lovely in her floral dress with the bow in her hair that he had had to fight the impulse to tell her he thought she looked beautiful. During his best man speech her ridiculous fiancé had put forth that silly meat dagger theory, and he had inwardly rolled his eyes. That Todd guy was just not smart enough for Molly. What did she see in him anyway?

He had been distracted though from thinking about Molly too much when he had ended up solving three cases at once, all connected. After playing his violin for his friends, Sherlock had had enough of the party and gone outside.

After he had played his violin for John and Molly, he had thrown his boutonnière to that flirty maid of honour, noting that Molly was beside her and wishing he could have thrown it to her instead, but reminding himself as he always did, that she was belonged to someone else.

He'd seen her dancing with her fiancé in the reception hall and his heart had hurt anew, prompting him to leave the stuffy atmosphere so he could brood outside, alone. When Molly had approached him in the darkness, Sherlock had been surprised. But then she reached him and showed him her hand. No more engagement ring. He made a swift deduction. She would not have sought him out like this if she didn't want him to know immediately that she was free.

When he had pulled her towards him and felt her pulse racing beneath his fingers, it had been a moment of validation, she was still attracted to him. Then, when he had kissed her, Sherlock knew she was his again. She had responded to him the way she always did. God, he had missed her so much. After his broken dreams when he returned to find her engaged, he now, finally, had a chance with her again - or at least he hoped so, if only she would come.

Sherlock glanced at his watch and his heart sank a little. She wasn't coming after all. He had left his door open, alert to the sound of her arriving so that he could let her in without disturbing Mrs. Hudson, who was by now probably happily in dreamland.

With a sigh, he went to close the door. Then his ears heard the faint knock from downstairs and his heart jumped. She had come after all.

He went down the stairs two at a time and opened the door, looking at the woman he knew he still loved. She was still in the dress from the wedding, although her cardigan covered her top half. She had taken her hair down though, and he thought she looked beautiful, even with the mismatched changing bag slung over her shoulder. She was balancing their daughter on her hip.

Victoria held out her chubby arms for him, and he took her, while saying, "Come on up."

Sherlock was surprised that the toddler was awake so late, but he kept a hold of her when she struggled to get down while they were ascending the stairs.

He closed the door behind Molly and nodded towards the sofa so she would sit, which she did, dropping the changing bag on the fooor beside her.

"I had just decided you weren't coming," he told her, taking the seat beside her, rather than his usual chair.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock," she responded, placing her hands in her lap and folding them. "There were explanations to be made, goodbyes to be said. I'm going to miss Tom's family."

He had settled his daughter onto his lap and she was, as usual, pulling at a curl. At least she was distracted, he thought. "You're not going to miss the man you were going to marry?"

Molly blushed. "I'll miss his companionship, having something to do on weekends."

"You didn't tell me why you broke off your engagement, even though I'm pretty sure my deduction was correct," he said, giving her a pointed look, even as he cocked an eyebrow at her.

Molly looked down at her hands, twisting her fingers together nervously. "I...I should have listened to you all those months ago. I thought I was doing the right thing, and I made a complete mess of it."

"At least you didn't go through with the wedding," he commented, wincing as Victoria gave a particularly hard tug on his hair, demanding his attention.

"Steady on, sweetheart," he told her. "You're hurting Daddy." He only realised what he'd said when he saw the smile on Molly's face.

"Mrs. Hudson told me you are always careful not to refer to yourself as Daddy," she said.

"It just slipped out." He saw Molly's rather pained expression and hastened to add, "Molly, you have to know I love our daughter. I want to acknowledge her, but well, you were engaged, and I didn't think it would be a good idea to do that until you were married and she was older."

Victoria had started patting his face now and suddenly she said, as if she'd been saying it for ages, "Daddy." Hearing her say it put a smile to his lips, as it did to Molly's. Much as he loved the child, he sincerely wished there was no baby between Molly and himself right now, he had a strong desire to kiss her.

"You should be asleep by now," he chided the toddler.

"No, not sweepy " she told him, shaking her head vigorously. It was amazing how fast children learned to understand language. Despite her words though, he could see those little eyelids starting to droop. It was very late after all. Her little fingers reached once again for his hair.

"I should probably get going now. Victoria needs her rest," Moly said, making a move to stand, but Sherlock frowned at her and she gave him an uncertain look.

"You're not going home tonight, Molly. You are both staying here," he stated categorically.

"But Sherlock, you don't have accommodations for a child!" she expostulated.

Sherlock made a snap decision. "She can sleep in my bed."

Molly hesitated. "I don't know, Sherlock. She tends to move around a lot at night, I'd be a bit afraid she might fall off the side and hurt herself."

"Then you can sleep on the other side of the bed so she will be safe," he responded reasonably. Not the ideal situation, a child between Molly and himself, but at least they'd be in the same bed.

Molly bit her lip. "I...I don't have anything to wear to bed. I can't exactly wear this dress."

"Molly," he said patiently, "I have plenty of shirts. You can borrow one to sleep in." He glanced down at Victoria. She had suddenly relaxed in his arms and her hand had fallen away from his hair, and he thought she might have finally fallen asleep. Her eyes were closed. _Yep, asleep_.

When Molly still looked doubtful he tilted his head towards Victoria. "I think our daughter is asleep," he remarked. "I'll take her to the bedroom and get you a shirt." Without waiting for Molly's answer, he stood and took the child with him to the bedroom, holding her with one arm while he pulled down the duvet, then laying her down in the centre of the bed.

The child made a little noise but did not wake, and Sherlock went to his wardrobe to get a shirt for Moly. Returning to the sitting room, he tossed it at her. She was still sitting there, a slightly discombobulated look on her face. She picked up the shirt without a word and went to his bathroom.

Sherlock returned to his bedroom and also got ready for bed. He hung up his suit jacket and trousers neatly, then removed his shirt. Should he put on those pyjamas he sometimes wore? He usually only wore them in the winter months, preferring to sleep in his boxers. Shrugging to himself, he didn't bother. It wasn't like Molly had never seen him shirtless.

At that moment, she exited the bathroom and knocked hesitatingly on the door, which he had closed while getting ready for bed. "Come in."

She entered and his mouth ran dry at the sight of her small form in his shirt. She definitely filled the shirt out in a much nicer way than he did, and he could see the way the buttons strained over her chest, and his thoughts involuntarily drifted to the memory of the way he had seen those sweet curves without the impediment of clothing. Had it really been more than two and a half years?

She stood uncertainly, in the doorway, and her eyes widened at the sight of his bare chest, which rather pleased him. She then averted her gaze from his chest to look over at the bed in which the toddler lay.

"She's fast asleep," he said unnecessarily, keeping his gaze fixed on Molly. Oh, she was so beautiful, he thought, drinking in the sight of the woman who had always possessed his heart. He had to at least kiss her goodnight, even if he couldn't do anything else. With purpose, he approached Molly and slid his arms around her.

To his satisfaction, Molly did not resist, but instead lifted her head to meet his gaze.

He held her body against him and lowered his lips to hers. Her lips were infinitely sweet and she evoked such sensations in him. He longed to do more than kiss her. He ached for her, to be with her, but he knew it was not possible at that moment. Even if Victoria had not been with them, he realised he had no way to prevent pregnancy. Apparently Molly was quite fertile if the time of month was right and he did not need her to undergo another accidental pregnancy, at least, not until he had a ring on her finger. Even as he continued to kiss her, his thoughts went to the ring box that was still in his bedside drawer. Maybe one day he would get the opportunity to give it to her, but not yet. She needed time to get over her broken engagement.

Molly sighed against his lips, it was a sigh of deep longing, and he knew she was as desperate for him as he was for her. Reluctantly he pulled away, resting his chin on top of her head and holding her close for a moment.

His breathing was uneven, as hers was, and he forced himself to breathe slowly, to reassert control over his senses. They had all the time in the world now. No hurry. He would woo her, and he would win her, once and for all.

"We had best go to bed now." he said reluctantly, and let her go.

Silently they climbed into opposite sides of the bed.

After Molly was asleep, he remained awake a little longer, making plans for their future and their baby's future, until finally, he too fell asleep.

* * *

 **Author's note:** I hope you enjoyed Sherlock's thoughts and the way he is still devoted to Molly. He is definitely a one-woman man. Did you enjoy his interaction with his daughter? Any guesses on what is going to happen next?

Don't be shy. Any and all thoughts are appreciated! (Feel free also to comment on my special note at the beginning of this chapter).


	13. Contemplating the Future

Molly opened her eyes and was, for a moment, disoriented. Then she realised what had woken her. A little hand was patting her cheek. "Mummy, hungwy."

Molly hoisted herself up onto one elbow. On the other side of Victoria, she could vaguely make out the shape of Sherlock. He was facing her way, with his right arm crooked at the elbow and hand near his face, the other arm lying just in front of him. He looked so sweet and vulnerable that Molly caught her breath.

Sleeping Sherlock was a sight to behold. His hair curled over his forehead in unruly disarray and his lips curved in a gentle smile of contentment. His skin seemed smoother also in repose. Gone were the slight crinkles at the sides of his eyes. He definitely looked significantly younger, and she wished she could reach over and touch him.

Unfortunately there was the small matter of an almost-two-year-old in the way, one who was now saying in a louder tone "Mummy, I hungwy!"

"Yes, yes, darling. Mummy is getting up," she said in a low tone, trying to not disturb the sleeping man in the bed. What was she going to feed her daughter anyway?

There was a Dunkin' Donuts just up the street. Being a Sunday though she knew it would only open at nine.

Molly glanced at the alarm clock, eight-thirty. Well she'd have time to get dressed, but oh, was she going to be overdressed for a morning stroll.

Molly slipped out of bed and held out her arms to her daughter who scrambled towards her mother. "Come on, sweetheart. We're going to let your daddy sleep. If you're a good girl we'll get doughnuts, okay?"

"'Kay", responded the toddler. She loved doughnuts when she was allowed to eat them.

Holding Victoria on her hip, Molly gathered her clothes and went into the sitting room to dress, then she went into the kitchen to hunt for milk. Fortunately that was one thing Sherlock did have in his fridge. Surprisingly there were no body parts to be seen. Then again, Sherlock had not requested any from her since he had returned to London, well, except for those eyeballs.

Molly poured some milk for Victoria and held it up to her daughter's lips. The child immediately made a face. "Bad, Mummy," she said.

So, apparently Sherlock was not really taking care of himself very well if the milk was bad.

"I'm sorry, darling, I'll just give you some water for now, and you can have milk at home later."

She helped the toddler on with her jacket, put on her own cardigan and headed out into the brisk Sunday morning air.

It had just turned nine o'clock when Molly reached the Dunkin' Donuts store. She decided to get a half dozen, in case Sherlock wanted any. He didn't seem to have anything for breakfast that she could see. Did he even eat breakfast?

Molly also decided to buy herself a coffee, remembering the lack of milk. She did not like black coffee, the way Sherlock did. Then she bought an apple juice for Victoria, grabbing a straw as well.

They headed back to 221B. Molly had left the door unlocked so she could get back in. She walked back upstairs slowly, awkwardly holding her items as well as her toddler.

As soon as she opened the door, she was startled to hear Sherlock's deep voice. "I thought you left me."

"I was just getting some breakfast, Sherlock. By the way, your milk has gone bad," she responded, looking for the source off the voice.

He appeared from the kitchen then and she saw he had dressed. There was a slight frown on his face. "You should have left a note."

Molly raised an eyebrow, "Since when am I answerable to you?" She put her daughter down and took the doughnuts out of the bag as she spoke.

Sherlock walked to stand in front of her and laid a hand on her arm. "I was worried. I thought you had just left me again."

She looked up at him in surprise and saw that his expression had softened. He'd been worried about her?

"Sherlock, I know we have our issues, and I also know we have a lot to discuss, but I wouldn't just go home with so much unfinished business between us. Besides, didn't you see that the changing bag was still here?" She indicated the bag at the other end of the sofa.

He grinned sheepishly. "I guess I was looking and not observing."

"Mummy," Victoria said, tuggng on her dress. "Doughnut. Drink."

"I'm sorry sweetheart, I'll get it right now." To Sherlock she said, "Duty calls. We can talk while Victoria is eating."

He nodded, waiting patiently while Molly found a plate for the doughnuts and broke one into pieces for their toddler. She opened the juice and added the straw, allowing the child to sit on her lap. It wasn't as if Sherlock had a feeding chair or anything useful.

Molly took a doughnut as well and sipped her coffee.

"Where's mine?"complained Sherlock, and she rolled her eyes.

"Be grateful you are getting doughnuts, Sherlock. It isn't easy buying stuff when you have a toddler to contend with. Besides, you don't mind your coffee black."

Sherlock selected a doughnut and took a big bite. Before Molly knew it, he had polished off three in a matter of minutes. "Did you eat anything at the reception?"

"Not much," he admitted. "I was too nervous about the best man speech."

"You did a wonderful job, well for most of it," Molly informed him with a smile.

Sherlock winced a little. "I think I might have offended the minister."

"Probably. Spouting your ridiculous atheistic notions in front of him was definitely not the wisest decision you've made," she remarked.

"They are not ridiculous notions, Molly," he stated huffily.

Molly glared at him. "Of course they are. Look at your child, Sherlock. Do you think everything that makes up the human body is some random chance? Talk about having your head in the sand." She could feel anger rising within herself. Sometimes Sherlock acted as if he were superior to God, and that did not sit well with her. Whether he agreed or not, she needed him to understand how much her beliefs meant to her, even if she sometimes didn't make the best decisions. Nobody was perfect, after all.

"Oh, I had forgotten you were into _religion_ ," he responded in a superior tone she disliked intensely.

Molly's lips tightened. If she hadn't been holding Victoria on her lap, she would have folded her arms in indignation at his tone. "Not religion, Sherlock. Christianity. You should try it sometime. You might actually realise it makes sense."

He huffed a little, but did not argue further, and Molly was glad. The last thing she needed was a big religious discussion in their daughter's presence when they had other things to talk about, namely where they went from here.

Not surprisingly, Victoria seemed to pick up on the tension. She was a perceptive child. "Mummy cwoss?" she asked, turning her head to look at Molly.

"It's okay, darling," Molly responded, kissing the top of her daughter's head. "Daddy and Mummy are just talking,"

"That's right, sweet pea. Mummy and I are just having a friendly disagreement," said Sherlock, looking at Molly speculatively. She was interested that he had used a pet name for Victoria, but more-so by the slight crease between his brows which indicated that perhaps he was actually considering what she had said. She hoped so. If he was considering resuming their relationship, he would have to get used to her going to church and talking about God. She wasn't ashamed of her faith, even if she didn't profess it to all and sundry. She just tried to do what was right and teach Victoria right from wrong.

She noticed Sherlock's gaze shift from her to eyeing the lone remaining doughnut. "Go ahead. Victoria and I just wanted one anyway."

The toddler twisted in her lap and said, "No, Mummy. Want more."

"One is enough, sweetheart,," chided Molly gently. Nevertheless, Sherlock broke off a piece and handed it to his daughter who beamed at him before putting it into her mouth.

At Molly's stern look, he said, "She still looked hungry, and this is a special occasion, after all."

Molly blinked at him in confusion. "Special? How so?"

Sherlock lifted an eyebrow at her. "Really, Molly? Are you so obtuse? You just broke off your engagement with that poor imitation of me."

Molly blushed. He might be right, but did he have to act so cocky about it?

"Sherlock, please don't be like that. Have some compassion," she responded, allowing a squirming Victoria to get off her lap.

"You had a singular lack of it for me when I asked you to break it off earlier. It would have saved him and myself a lot of heartache," he responded without looking at her, keeping a watchful eye on their daughter instead, who was looking around the room curiously.

Molly was about to give a defensive reply when his words suddenly hit her - heartache? He had suffered heartache?

She was about to ask him what he meant by that when Victoria suddenly walked a few steps away and frowned in concentration. Molly knew what that look meant. A minute later she returned to Molly and the smell confirmed Molly's thoughts. So instead of questioning Sherlock, she said, "I need to change her."

Sherlock glanced from his daughter to Molly. "Do you want me to?"

Molly looked at him in astonishment. "You know how to change a nappy?"

"I have been visiting with our daughter on a regular basis, and she has, on the odd occasion, dirtied her nappy during our time together," he informed her in an offended tone.

Mrs. Hudson had obviously never thought to enlighten her with this information. "Uh..." she began hesitantly.

Sherlock reached out for the toddler who happily went to him. "If you will get me a nappy and some baby wipes, Molly?" he asked, as he walked with Victoria to the bedroom.

Molly was still rather discombobulated, but gave herself a mental shake and got the items from the changing bag for Sherlock and took them to the bedroom. She watched as he took a breath, then held it before he clumsily changed Victoria's nappy. When he was done, he let out his breath and Molly couldn't help but laugh at him.

"So you were trying to impress me, were you? How many dirty nappies have you actually changed?" she questioned, quite sure of his response.

He looked at her and gave a rueful grin. "Including this one? One," he admitted sheepishly, as he picked up the now clean toddler. "Although I have observed Mrs. Hudson doing the honours more than once." Then he added, rather proudly, "I have, however, changed two wet nappies."

Molly couldn't help grinning as she took the dirty nappy and put it into two plastic bags, then the bin. She looked at the man who had held her heart for years. Victoria was completely at ease with him and she knew he had obviously spent a good amount of time with their daughter when she wasn't present.

He looked very much a father as he lifted the toddler over his head and whirled her around, and her breath caught at the picture it made. Who would have thought Sherlock Holmes could be so gentle, so caring with a child?

Her heart swelled with love for him.

"Sherlock," she said hesitantly. "It was very nice to be here and all, and see you with Victoria, but we should probably have our discussion later. I need to change out of this dress and I have things to do at home."

Sherlock sighed. "I suppose you are right. Can I come over to your place tonight, perhaps after our daughter is asleep?" He placed Victoria on his hip as he spoke.

Molly hesitated, but then nodded her head. They did need to talk about things without the distraction of a baby. "She's normally asleep by around nine. You can come after that, if you like."

"I'll see you tonight then," he said, moving so he was directly in front of her. Even as he continued to hold their child, he lowered his lips to hers for a brief but meaningful kiss, and she felt her lips tingle. His lips were so warm, and they felt so good. The magic was still there. How could she have contemplated settling for a man whose lips did not evoke the fiery sensations of Sherlock's?

He broke the kiss, handing their daughter to Molly and picking up the changing bag for her. Then they headed down the stairs together.

Unfortunately, their timing could not have been worse.

Mrs. Hudson opened the door to her flat just as they reached the foot of the stairs and her voice arrested their movements.

"Molly? What are you doing here?" She walked towards them and gave Molly a once-over, obviously noticing she was still wearing her dress from yesterday.

Molly flushed with embarrassment even as Victoria clapped her hands and said "Nanny!"

Mrs. Hudson smiled at the toddler. "Hello, lambie." She wiggled her fingers invitingly and Victoria reached for her surrogate grandmother, so Molly handed her daughter to the elderly woman.

It was Sherlock who decided to make an explanation. "Good morning, Mrs. Hudson. Molly and her fiancé ended their engagement last night and she came here to discuss our daughter. It was rather late, so I invited her to stay."

The landlady raised a questioning brow as she bounced Victoria on her hip. "And where, pray, did my little lambie here sleep? Your flat isn't exactly a fit environment for her."

Molly could see Sherlock's expression turn belligerent and decided to defuse the situation with an explanation of her own. "Sherlock offered his own bed to us, and she slept between us." She hoped Mrs. Hudson would understand that meant there had been no funny business going on between them.

"I see," responded the older woman. "Well, I hope this means you will reconcile your differences and work on your relationship for the sake of your daughter," she said in a rather chiding tone. "It is such a shame that Victoria has not had the opportunity of seeing her parents getting along comfortably."

"That is something Molly and I intend to work on, Mrs. Hudson," responded Sherlock, and Molly could tell he still felt annoyed by the way his landlady was butting her nose into their business. Then he added, with a sideways glance at Molly, "I believe things will be easier now that there is no other man in the picture."

Molly felt the censure in his tone and recalled again the way he had talked about his heartache over the situation that had occurred over her well intentioned if unintentionally misguided decision to try and make things work with Tom. She was only human, and she made mistakes. She had forgotten to ask him what he meant in regard to his heartache, but that time was now past. Instead, she reached to take Victoria back. "Yes, we are working on it, but for now, it's time for Victoria and me to get home."

Mrs. Hudson relinquished the child after kissing her forehead. "Well, that is indeed good to hear. Will you be bringing Victoria here as usual tomorrow before work?"

"Yes, of course," responded Molly. "I hope too that Sherlock will continue to visit with you and Victoria even as he has been doing for the past several months." She glanced at Sherlock and smirked, then confided to Mrs. Hudson, "He even changed a dirty nappy this morning, so feel free to have him practice his new skills from now on."

"Molly!" huffed Sherlock, folding his arms. "I do not require practice for that. I simply allow Mrs. Hudson to take care of such matters in order to make her feel needed."

The two women laughed and Mrs Hudson laid an affectionate hand on his arm. "Whatever you say, dear." Then she looked at Molly again. "I'll see you tomorrow then. Early shift, so six-thirty?"

"Yes, thanks," responded Molly and the landlady returned to her flat.

Molly headed for the front door, and Sherlock opened it then walked out to the street with them and hailed a taxi. He kissed Victoria's forehead and helped them into the taxi.

"Till tonight, Molly," he said in his rich baritone, and Molly's heart jumped in her chest.

"Till tonight, Sherlock," she said softly, as the taxi left him behind, watching until they were out of sight.

Molly sighed and settled back into her seat in the taxi. She considered asking the driver to take her to church instead of home, but the service would have already started and she was still wearing the dress from the previous day. She did like to dress nicely for church, but the dress she was wearing was a bit fancy, even for her, for church.

Instead, she spent the day with Victoria, and her thoughts drifted constantly to the coming evening. She couldn't help the slight tingle of anticipation and the way her stomach clenched every time she thought about it. She had a feeling that now that Tom was out of the picture, things were about to change for her and Sherlock.

She knew she should feel sorrow about the end of her engagement, but she didn't. All of a sudden she felt free, free to follow the desires of her heart which she had denied for the past several months.

As the day wore on, Molly kept Victoria occupied with little activities, wanting to make sure she was well and truly tired and ready for bed early. She was hoping Victoria would sleep through the night. Indeed, it was only a little past eight-thirty when Victoria began rubbing her eyes and saying "Sweepy, Mummy," so Molly took the cue, tucked her daughter into bed and kissed her goodnight.

Then she waited for Sherlock.

* * *

 **Author's note:** Yes, there's a Dunkin' Donuts on Baker Street, not far from 221B. I do not make these things up haha. I hope you enjoyed seeing a little interaction between Sherlock, Molly and their daughter.

Obviously I left this chapter at a pivotal point as Molly and Sherlock are going to re-evaluate things now that Tom is out of the picture.

Where do you think it's going to lead? Where do you want it to lead?


	14. Bold Decisions

After Molly and Victoria had left, Sherlock settled into his chair to think.

Spending time together with their daughter had been a very pleasant experience, even if it precluded him from doing what he really wanted. What he really wanted was to experience once again that sweet intimacy he had shared with Molly two years and however many months earlier.

After she had refused to break off her engagement, Sherlock had thrown himself into helping with John and Mary's wedding, to distract himself from the feelings that plagued him about the woman he had lost. His heart had ached constantly, but his pain had lightened somewhat when he had spent time with Victoria, lavishing his affection on his daughter instead of her mother.

Now though, Sherlock was determined. He was going to be with Molly properly and, if she allowed him, he was going to love her as he had wanted to do since he had returned to London. His long term plans, which had been on an indefinite hiatus, were back on track.

First, Sherlock decided there was something he needed to do, in case things went as he hoped. He went to the local chemist and checked to find the correct aisle. _Ah, there it is, the aisle with contraceptive aids._ He gazed in astonishment at the variety of condoms in various sizes and textures, even colours. It was a little embarrassing, although this sort of thing had to be commonplace. He hoped nobody recognised him. He had put on his beanie to cover his curly hair which always seemed to be a dead giveaway.

He found a box of condoms that he assumed would be appropriate and purchased them, still feeling self conscious. He had added a box of chocolates and some chewing gum so he had other things to purchase. The chocolates he figured he could give to Molly.

Then he returned home. Sherlock thought for a moment, then emptied half of the contraceptive box's contents into his Belstaff pocket so he would be able to pull them out if he needed them. He peered at the instructions. God, he was such a novice it was embarrassing. They seemed straightforward enough, he supposed.

He placed the box into his bedside drawer and noticed something over to the side, next to the small ring box that also nestled there and pulled it out. He looked at the photos of himself and Molly from so long ago that he had placed in there along with the ring box months earlier when he had discovered she was engaged to Tom. He slid the photos back into his wallet where they rightfully belonged. Finally he had hope for a future again for Molly and himself.

For the rest of the day, Sherlock was on tenterhooks, waiting for the time to arrive when he could go and see Molly. He didn't typically schedule client consultations on Sunday, figuring he should allow himself at least one day a week in which to relax and reflect upon the coming week. Usually he would spend some time on his laptop responding to requests for consultations, but on this occasion he was too anxious about the evening ahead. Instead, he spent the afternoon pacing around the sitting room, thinking about what he planned to say to Molly and imagining her potential reaction. Should he declare his love for her tonight, surprise her with a proposal of marriage of his own, admit he had bought the ring for her already when he had returned to London?

Around and around his thoughts whirled, like a bank of eddying leaves trapped between the outside walls of adjoining buildings. For the first time in years he found himself craving a cigarette. The last time he had felt that urge for one had been shortly before he had embarked on that case in Baskerville. He remembered Molly's distaste for cigarettes and the smell of them though, and his need for her was much greater than that provided by the temporary satisfaction of a cigarette, so he restrained the urge to go out and buy a pack. Besides, that would not have set a good example for Victoria if he were to indulge in the habit once again, he reflected.

He was not used to feeling so bloody nervous though, and the day seemed to proceed at a snail's pace.

He was still trying to determine whether he should confess his love and lay all his cards on the table when at seven o'clock he heard the sound of the doorbell. _Is she back? Did she decide to come here instead?_ he wondered nervously, still feeling singularly unprepared and undecided on his plans for the evening.

When a tread sounded on the stairs he knew it was not Molly. This tread was heavier, slower. It was a woman, he could tell by the heels, and undoubtedly an older one, because the tread was slow moving. He opened the door to an unfamiliar woman.

"Can I help you?" he asked politely, looking carefully at the woman. His mind palace registered immediately that she was middle-aged, married. Her genuine pearl necklace and earrings indicated wealth, and she wore a little too much perfume for his taste. He had studied various scents and this one was Claire De La Lune. The woman also looked extremely agitated.

"I hope so," she responded with a nervous smile. "I work with your brother. My name is Lady Elizabeth Smallwood, and I desperately need your help. My husband's reputation is on the line."

She went on to explain about a newspaper magnate named Charles Magnussen. He had heard the name before. Magnussen was notorious for seeking out dirt on people and exposing things that should be kept hidden. He had no scruples. By the time Lady Smallwood had finished speaking, Sherlock was fully invested, and he felt a frisson of excitement spreading within himself. This was a case he had to take on. The man was evil. He preyed on others and blackmailed them. Magnussen definitely needed to be stopped and Sherlock knew he was the right person for the job. Although Magnussen was not a murderer, this was a solid nine on Sherlock's crime scale rating. Exposing and capturing this man with his web of deceit and blackmail would improve the lives of many people. It was almost as exciting as dismantling Moriarty's network, but probably nowhere near as dangerous, seeing as this van seemed to work alone. Sherlock hoped Molly would see it in the same way, as a service to others.

"I'll take the case," he told the woman, who then left. Sherlock looked at his watch. He'd have to leave soon to see Molly, but first, he needed to go into his mind palace and think how he might approach the case.

Sherlock sat in his chair and closed his eyes, steepling his fingers in thought as usual. He was going to have to find a way to get the man's attention, to draw him out. What would Magnussen find interesting?

Then it came to him. It was a bit risky, but he knew he could control himself. He had to start using again. It had been years since Sherlock had used drugs as a means to get high, to feel anything. He felt plenty already where Molly was concerned. But this would be a necessary step. If he could manufacture a drug habit, without really having one, that would be sure to get the newspaper magnate's attention. He would have to do it a bit at a time, though. Just have enough drugs in his system, visit a drug den or two. _Yes,_ Sherlock thought, _that should work._

He suddenly thought about Molly. What would she think about this?

He had the distinct feeling she would not approve. Therefore it was imperative he not let her know.

The next question was to determine how to get at Magnussen himself, find the incriminating photos Lady Smallwood had mentioned if he could not get them back via Magnussen himself. Suddenly, Sherlock remembered the maid of honour from the wedding. What was her name again?

He went into his bedroom to find the trousers he had hung the night before and searched in the pocket. Ah, there it was. Janine, that was her name, with her phone number under it. She had seemed interested in him. He remembered her saying she was the personal assistant of a Mr. Magnussen. It had only just come to him. Could he start a romantic relationship with her? He did not like the thought, but it seemed the only way he could have a chance at getting into Magnussen's inner sanctum if all else failed.

Sherlock thought a little longer. How would he pursue a romantic relationship without getting in too deep, yet giving her the feeling it was real? He'd have to admit that he was socially awkward and did not usually date. He would need to be firm that he needed to take things slowly. He supposed he would have to kiss her once in awhile, but he would not kiss her the way he kissed Molly, definitely no tongue. He was getting ahead of himself. Janine might refuse him, although he was pretty certain her body language, and the fact that she had given him her number indicated romantic interest.

In addition he remembered her words after he had tried to help her find a man, which meant she was currently unattached. _"Can I keep you?"_

One thing though. He would have to tell Molly about that part of his plan. He could tell her he was doing a very important case which involved going out with Janine to get access to Magnussen. He did not want Molly to think he was cheating on her with another woman. If things went well with Janine and she needed a little push to allow him access to the newspaper magnate's office, there was already a diamond ring sitting in his bedside drawer. He didn't want to have to go to those lengths, but if he had to, it was an option. He only hoped he didn't lose the ring permanently. It was, after all, intended for the woman he truly loved. Sadly, he knew now he could no longer contemplate declaring his love and proposing to Molly tonight. A man could not be engaged to one woman while wooing another.

Sherlock exited his mind palace and glanced again at his watch. It was already after nine. _Dammit_ , he cursed, he had not been aware of the passage of time while in his mind palace. That was definitely a recurring problem for him. He should text Molly and make sure he could still come.

 _Molly, I'm running late. I have a new case and I need to discuss it with you, among other things. Can I still come over?_

She responded quickly. Obviously she had her phone close by.

 _I was just going to text you to see if you were still coming. Victoria is already asleep._

 _Of course I still want to come. I got a bit side-tracked in my mind palace. I'll be there soon,_ he responded.

Sherlock headed downstairs and put on his Belstaff. He was waylaid for a few minutes by Mrs. Hudson, who was wondering why he was going out so late at night. He told her he was just going for a walk. She insisted on talking about the previous day's wedding for a few minutes, rhapsodising about his violin playing, so of course he had to be gracious and thank her for saying such nice things. Then of course she had to go on and on about how lovely it was to see him and Molly getting along so well again, and that she hoped this would mean Victoria would get to spend time with her parents together. _Didn't we have almost the exact same conversation this morning?_ he wondered impatiently, thinking that perhaps Mrs. Hudson was beginning to experience short-term memory loss. She was a rather elderly woman, after all.

Once Mrs. Hudson had returned to her flat, he suddenly remembered the chocolates, hurried upstairs for them, then headed outside. It was a few minutes before a taxi came by, which delayed him further. By the time he reached Molly's, it was closer to ten o'clock than his earlier intended arrival.

He knocked on her door. He still had her spare key that she had given him years earlier, but felt it would be impolite to let himself in. Besides, she had probably forgotten he had it, and who knew when he might need to enter her flat unannounced for an emergency? He didn't want her asking for the key back.

She opened the door. To his surprise she was in a dressing gown, and he could see she had taken a shower. Her hair was damp and she smelled of her usual fragrant shampoo and body wash. "I thought you changed your mind," she said, with an embarrassed gesture at the state of her undress.

"I would have texted you if I had," he told her, thinking he probably should have texted her from the taxi.

He took off his Belstaff and laid it over a yellow armchair, then suddenly remembered something from years earlier. "What happened to your cat?"

A shadow crossed her face. "He disappeared years ago, soon after you left, Sherlock. I...well, I didn't have the heart to get another cat, and then of course, I found out I was pregnant and I had more important things to think about."

"I'm sorry, Molly," he said sincerely, hoping she knew he meant more than just about the loss of her cat.

She shrugged. "I know Victoria wasn't planned, but I don't regret having her. She helped me through those long, lonely months without you. If I had to choose between a cat and our daughter, I'd choose her every time."

He raised a hand to squeeze hers. "I hope you know I don't regret our having a child either. She has given much more meaning to my life."

She flashed him a smile. "I'm glad you think that too."

He dropped her hand then and went to the pocket of his Belstaff, searching for the chocolates. _Oops, wrong pocket,_ he thought, feeling the metallic foil packets. Hastily he removed his hand from that pocket and fished in the other one, drawing out the chocolates.

He turned back to Molly, thrusting the box of chocolates aty her. "For you." _Is she still wearing that sexy chemise under her dressing gown?_ he wondered, unable to erase the image of the way she had looked in it that first night he had stayed at her flat.

What's this for?" she questioned, furrowing her brow.

"We're celebrating you coming to your senses and breaking it off with Tad," he responded with a quirk to his lips. No need to tell her they had just been an extra purchase to disguise his true reason for going to the chemist.

"Tom," she corrected him automatically, but didn't reprimand him. "Ferrero Rocher, my favourite," she noted, then looked at him. "How did you know?"

"Lucky guess," he said, thinking how fortuitous it was that they had been the first thing he picked up. He'd have to remember she liked them.

She immediately tore off the plastic wrapping, opened the box and popped one of the balls in her mouth, making a murmur of contentment. He smiled at her indulgently.

Once she had chewed and swallowed she offered him the box. "Would you like one?"

"No thanks." Chocolates were not really his thing. He preferred savoury snacks when it came to junk food, like smoky bacon crisps, although he had been known to eat quavers from the hospital snack machine if he was desperate. He still remembered picking up a couple packets of those for Molly as a lunch substitute on the day before he had jumped off the roof of St. Bart's.

she set the box onto the kitchen counter and quirked an eyebrow. "How about a cup of tea?"

He nodded, then watched while Molly took care of making it. When the tea was ready, she asked, "Should we drink it at the table or on the sofa?"

"The sofa," he said immediately. He wanted to be next to her, not across a table from her.

Molly took the cups to the coffee table in front of the sofa and sat down. He sat next to her, a little closer than necessary and their legs brushed together.

"So, um," she began, looking at him rather shyly, "what did you want to talk about?"

He couldn't believe she was acting as if they were just getting to know one another, then again, perhaps they were. It was a new start for them. "I think you know, Molly. I want to talk about our situation."

She cocked her head slightly. "You can visit Victoria anytime you want, Sherlock. I won't stop you."

Was she flirting with him? Damn, but he wished he could untie that dressing gown right then.

Instead he gave her a mock frown. "Molly, don't be deliberately obtuse. I'm not here to discuss our daughter. I want to talk about you and me."

"Oh, well, um, what exactly do you want to discuss about us then?" Molly asked, twisting a strand of hair around her finger. There was a faint blush on her cheeks. He could almost see the electricity between them. It felt exactly the same as the day they had spent together when he had been planning to propose at the end of it. At least this time he knew there was no engagement to another man to ruin things.

He took her hands gently, the tea suddenly forgotten. They had lost too much time already and he didn't want to wait any longer. "Molly," he said earnestly, "I think you know what I want, and I don't wish to push you into something you are not ready for. So this is your chance to tell me to back off." He looked at her intently, his blue-green eyes boring into her coffee coloured ones, and his voice lowered to its deepest timbre as he murmured huskily, "Do you want to be friends or do you want...more?"

He held his breath, waiting for an eternity it seemed, before she answered him.

"Sherlock, I just broke off my engagement." His heart sank, but then she continued. "I shouldn't be ready for any relationship, but we have a history together, we share a child. I don't want to let anyone know just yet, because of the fact Tom and I just broke up, but if you are okay with keeping a relationship between us something that stays between just us for now, I do want more than friendship with you." Her hands trembled slightly in his as she added honestly, "If I didn't, I'd have married Tom by now."

Sherlock smiled and squeezed her hands slightly. This was the perfect opening for him to discuss the upcoming case. "I'm fine with keeping our relationship a secret. In fact it is imperative we do that, because I have a very important case that requires me to not be ostensibly in a relationship with someone."

She furrowed her brow. "You mentioned you have a new case. How did that happen so quickly?"

"I had an unexpected visitor this evening who asked for my help. It is a very sensitive matter and is rather urgent."

"All right," she said, and he was glad she didn't press the subject. They had more important things to discuss right now.

Molly bit her lip. "So, what do we do now?" Visions of her biting her lip all those years ago filled his mind. He wanted to kiss her so badly. In fact he wanted to do more than kiss her, tempting vixen that she was, sitting on her sofa in that dressing gown and making him think of what scanty garments lay beneath.

He lifted one of her hands to his lips and kissed the back of it, then turned it over and kissed her palm, eliciting a quick intake of breath from her. It was time to lay everything out on the table and put the ball in her court.

* * *

 **Author's note:** This may seem an odd place to end a chapter, but I have been revising it and it was already at over 5000 words and Was still not finished, so I decided to split it into two. Ah, the joys of writing something so far in advance and then coming back to it with heavy revisions!

I decided to go a different route than usual for this story, and have Molly aware of the fact that Sherlock will be "seeing" another woman. In light of the fact that Sherlock and Molly are definitely closer here than they usually are, and at a place where they are both showing their love for one another without expressing it out loud, I figured Sherlock would tell Molly what was going on. I have to say, writing a story where they love one another so deeply, yet refuse to say the words is quite challenging, yet, I have to keep it that way to remain canon-compliant. Hopefully you think it works.

So, what is Sherlock going to tell Molly? Hope to hear from you with those opinions!


	15. Bold Moves

**Special note:** I know this is a spoiler, sorry about that, but I feel I need to let my readers know once again of this chapter being regarded as a hard T in my estimation. I'm still tossing up whether I should change the rating to M, but unless I hear from readers who tell me they think this is too much for a T rated story, I will leave it as is. Please do share your thoughts on what you consider constitutes the difference between T and M, especially if you are someone who reads both ratings. Where does this fall in your opinion? I'm not a mind reader, so silent readers don't help me figure these things out. This is your chance to actually express an opinion about the ratings on this site.

* * *

Sherlock took a deep breath to prepare himself. He released Molly's other hand and raised his own to tilt her chin upwards so she had to look directly at him. "Let me make this clear, Molly Hooper. I want you, desperately. In whatever way you will have me, I'm yours. If it is just kissing, I'll make do with that. But I've been celibate for two and a half years or however long it has been since we conceived our child. I have memories of several unforgettable encounters with you that have haunted my dreams, and that is distracting me quite a lot right now."

Molly drew in her breath. He was a little disappointed when instead of responding to his rather impassioned speech, she asked, "I was wondering - why can't you be in a relationship for this case? I mean, I'm glad it works for you right now to keep things between us secret, but being single seems a rather odd necessity."

Sherlock wished he had not said anything about that. He would rather have told this to Molly at a later time. He moved his hand away from Molly's chin to run it through his hair instead. "I know I can trust you, so I am going to tell you about this case, but you must promise me to not breathe a word of it to anyone."

Molly's eyes were round. "Of course," she responded.

"This new case, it is to expose the newspaperman Charles Magnussen. Have you heard of him?"

Molly nodded. "I think most people have. I don't read his rubbish though. All he does is take pleasure in destroying people's lives with his newspaper."

Sherlock nodded. "I have a client who is being blackmailed. She wants my help to retrieve some incriminating letters written by her husband many years ago. I'm afraid I can't tell you more than that."

"That's fine, but what does that have to do with you not being in a relationship?" she asked, obviously confused.

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably, linking his fingers together. "Do you remember Mary's maid of honour at the wedding?"

"Yes. She is very beautiful," Molly said, and he was sure he detected a slight note of envy in her voice.

"She is attractive, I'll grant you that, but she is not you," he told her, and was relieved to see Molly's dimple as she flashed him a small grin. "Anyway, she showed an interest in me during the wedding and gave me her number. She happens to be Magnussen's personal assistant, and I have determined I may have to pursue a romantic relationship with her, in order to get at the man."

Molly put her hands to her mouth. "And how far do you think things might have to progress with this woman? Do you think you might have to...sleep with her?"

He gave Molly a horrified look. Did she really think he would go to such extreme lengths for a case? Manufacturing a drug habit was one thing, but sharing his body with anyone other than the woman he loved was abhorrent to him. "God, no, Molly. Would I be telling you this if I intended to sleep with anyone else? The only woman I want in my bed is you," he said earnestly, not caring if it made him sound desperate. He needed her to understand he would not do that to her. "This is for a case, Molly, I might have to share a few kisses with her. As soon as the case is over, I will end things. That is, if this whole idea of mine even works out. She might not want to go out with me, after all."

Molly's lips tightened and he knew that she wasn't happy at the thought of him kissing another woman, which he could understand. Heaven only knew what she would say if she knew he intended to go back to using drugs in a controlled manner. As a matter of fact, she didn't know he had even _had_ a drug habit. One day he would have to confess that to her, but not now. "If she left you her number, she is interested," she said.

Sherlock winced at the terse note in her voice. "Look, I didn't come here to discuss Janine, except to tell you what is going on, to reassure you that if you hear I've been with another woman, remember, it is for a case."

"Okay," Molly said in a low voice. "How...how long do you think you will have to keep up this deception?"

God, why had this case come now? He really wanted this part of the conversation to be over already. "I just don't know, Molly. I'm so sorry I can't give you a definite answer. It could be weeks or longer. After tonight I need to start work on this case. I won't be able to see you the way I want, or it will cause suspicion."

Molly looked close to tears and her voice shook slightly as she asked, "So, will you even be able to see Victoria? Her birthday is next week, you know."

Sherlock sighed. "Oh God, I had forgotten that. I want to, but things will have to stay the way they have been. I won't be able to come here to see you both. I'll try to see her when you leave her with Mrs. Hudson. I'm sorry, sweetheart."

The endearment was unintentional, but suddenly tears were coursing down Molly's cheeks. "Is it ever going to be different? Maybe there will always be a case getting in our way, Sherlock. Maybe we just aren't meant to be together."

"Don't talk nonsense like that Molly. Thinks will work out, you'll see." Sherlock searched in his pocket for a hanky, using it to wipe at her tears.

She looked at it and sniffed. "Is that the same kind of hanky you used at uni?"

He smiled slightly. "My mother used to buy them for me each year for Christmas, until I told her I didn't want presents anymore."

When she gave him a sad smile through her tears, Sherlock couldn't hold back any longer, he needed her to see how much she still meant to him.

He reached for his wallet and extracted it from his pocket, much as he had done years earlier, after the fall. Then he carefully pulled out the photos that were in much the same condition as they had been the first time he had shown them to her. After all, they had been in his drawer for months, rather than being ripped up as he had initially contemplated, and now he was very glad he had not done so. He recognised that deep down within himself, he had clung to the hope that something would happen to prevent Molly from marrying that other man. It was as if a still, small voice had told him that all was not lost. Was that God? He didn't know, but he was willing to concede the possibility.

He held the photos out to her. "This is the most important present I've ever received, and I still have it. I hope you understand how much you mean to me."

Molly bit her lip in a way that made him want to trace his finger across it. "I have a confession to make, Sherlock."

He looked at her questioningly.

"I still have our photos as well. I put the frame into my bedside drawer when I became engaged to Tom, but I was never able to throw them away." A small smiled played around her lips. "I guess my heart wasn't ready to give you up either."

Her words were like music to his ears. Carefully he replaced the photos into his wallet and put it back in his pocket.

He had been wanting to kiss her again since he had arrived. It was time to stop talking and show her he cared. He shifted slightly to face Moly properly and was about to take her in his arms when the sound of a soft cry startled them. _Great timing, kid,_ he thought a little glumly.

Molly immediately jumped up. "I had better see to Victoria," she said and he could tell that she too was a little disappointed at the interruption.

"I'll come as well," he told her, following her to the small bedroom.

Victoria was standing in her cot, hands curled around the rails. As soon as he entered the room behind Molly, she reached up her arms. "Daddy!"

"Hello, sweet pea," he responded, lifting her out of the cot and holding her against him, stroking her back gently. "You are supposed to be asleep, little one," he chided gently.

She tilted her head slightly. "No. Want Daddy," she responded clearly and Sherlock sighed, looking at Molly over their daughter's head. She gave him a rueful grin.

Sherlock wondered how he would be able to convince his toddler to go back to sleep. Then he hit upon an idea. He knew Brahms' lullaby. He didn't have his violin to play it, But he was pretty sure he could remember the German words. "Victoria, if you would like, Daddy will sing you a lullaby," he offered.

Molly's eyebrows lifted in surprise at his words, she immediately said, "Oh, doesn't that sound lovely, sweetheart?" and Victoria nodded.

Sherlock laid his daughter gently down in her cot and cleared his throat. His voice was a bit rusty when it came to singing, but he was fairly certain he could do a decent job of it. He opened his mouth and begin to sing.

"Gluten Abend, Gut' Nacht.

Mit Rosen bedacht,

Mit näglein besteckt,

schlupf unter die Deck..."

He had finished the two German verses and begun the English by the time Victoria's eyes drooped and she fell back asleep. He stopped singing and waited for a few moments, to make sure she didn't stir, and was relieved when she didn't.

Molly, who had been watching him as he sang with a rather fascinating expression, motioned for him to leave the room, and they walked out very quietly. Molly closed the door gently and they made their way back to her sofa.

"I knew you could play violin, but I never knew you could sing as well. That was lovely," she commented and he smiled.

"There's a lot you still have to learn about me, Molly, and I'm sure I have a lot to learn about you as well, but for now I think I would like to engage in some non-verbal communication. What do you say?" he questioned in a deep voice, pulling her down onto his lap.

Molly wound her arms around his neck. "I concur," she said softly and finally he was able to do what he had been longing to do for hours. He bent his head and enveloped her inviting mouth with his own. He tried to be gentle, but his lips refused to cooperate. Instead, he kissed her hungrily, passionately, trying to convey to her exactly how he felt.

Molly made a soft sound of pleasure against his lips and her hold tightened on him.

Desire shot through him like a molten flame. He wanted nothing more than to undress her, untie her dressing gown. He moved a hand boldly to slide it between the folds of the dressing gown and immediately encountered the silky fabric that covered her breast. She _was_ wearing that sexy chemise that had tempted him years earlier, or at least something very much like it.

She gasped slightly against his lips, as he caressed the soft mound, feeling its response to his touch that indicated she desired him as much as he desired her.

He continued to kiss her and touch her that way until they were both panting, chests heaving. "I want you, Molly," he murmured. "Dear God, how I want you, to be with you the way we were before I left London."

"Sherlock," she whispered. "I want to be with you too, but I don't want to get pregnant again right now. I'm sorry." He could tell by the expression on her face that she really was sorry.

Of course, if that was her only objection, he had a solution. He looked at her intently. "If I told you I brought protection with me, would it make a difference?"

She gazed at him wide-eyed. "You thought about this?"

He stroked her hair. "Of course I did. I already told you I want to be with you. I love our child, but now is not the right time for us to have another."

"Now?" she questioned, and her face was flushed, but he knew his words had pleased her.

He brushed a kiss to her forehead. "I told you years ago that I had long-term plans with you, didn't I? We may have lost two years and several months, but this isn't and never has been a fling for me, you should know that. I even showed you the photos I've kept all this time," he reminded her.

He reached an arm under Molly's knees and slid her off his lap, then stood and went to his Belstaff, pulling out one of those foil packets. "Do you want to be with me tonight or not? Speak now or forever hold your peace." He slid it into his trouser pocket and waited for her response.

Molly smiled shyly and went to him. "I want to be with you too, Sherlock."

He pulled her close, kissing her demandingly, and she responded, reaching to undo his jacket button and the buttons of his shirt. She placed her hands against his chest, then moved them around to his back and suddenly she was still.

"Sherlock," she said, and he heard anguish in her voice. "Is that what you meant when you said you were being beaten to a pulp?"

Sherlock untied her dressing gown and slid it off her shoulders. "Yes. Please Moly, I don't want to talk about that right now."

"Turn around. Let me see," she demanded.

He sighed. "Very well." He turned his back to her and slid both shirt and jacket off properly. A moment later he felt her lips on his back, kissing the scars that would always be a physical reminder of his time in Serbia.

"Dear God. What you've been through. My poor, poor love," she murmured and Sherlock caught his breath. He wondered if he had heard her aright? Had she really called him her love?

It was probably a figure of speech. She had never spoken the words to him, and he was just not ready to say them to her either, not until more time had passed.

He turned back to face her and kissed her again. This time his hands moved to slide the thin straps of her chemise down her shoulders until it slid to the floor. He continued kissing her, caressing her shoulders then her breasts with his hands, delighting in her sweetness. His mouth travelled along those same curves until she gasped. "Please, Sherlock." Oh yes, the magic was still very much present between them.

There was no need for her to say more, and he picked her up, easily carrying her to the bedroom, depositing her gently into the centre of her bed.

He shed the rest of his clothes, and almost blushed when he saw her frank gaze of appreciation. Gone was her shyness from years earlier, when touch was enough for her and she averted her eyes from seeing for herself the way his body responded to hers. She boldly used her hands to explore his body, until his breathing grew ragged and he had to push her back down against the bed so he could take his turn, throwing her knickers to the floor and administering his own torture until their desperation to be together consumed them.

He hastily made the necessary precautions, and then he was with her in an achingly sweet manner, loving her the way he had wanted to do for so long, taking them both into a world where nothing existed but the two of them.

It was quite some time later when he was holding her in his arms. Slowly their breathing returned to normal. If he thought it had been good between them years earlier, it was even better now, maybe because he had been craving being with Molly for years. His heart was bursting with the feelings she brought out in him. Loving her was as easy as breathing.

He trailed a hand lightly along her smooth skin, luxuriating in her closeness, her body so warm against his. He was so tempted to confess his love at that moment, but he didn't dare. She had to know anyway, didn't she?

"Stay with me tonight," she murmured, and he kissed her hair.

"I'm not going anywhere."

They remained together, in each other's arms and slept. When Sherlock awoke and found Molly no longer in bed, he wondered where she had gone. His question was answered only a minute later when she came in with the rest of the contraceptives he had brought with him. "I see you came very prepared," she grinned at him, getting back into bed after putting the remaining foil packets save one into her bedside drawer.

Then she very deliberately pressed her body up against him, kissing him, letting him know their night together was not over. His body instantly responded and soon their kisses became more urgent as their bodies delighted in one another again, following the same urgency, the need to be together, for mutual fulfillment.

It was an unforgettable night for both of them, filled with passion and love, even if unspoken, and it was what Sherlock knew he would have to hold onto as he turned his attentions to the Magnussen case.

He left very early in the morning. He had contemplated suggesting he just take Victoria with him to Baker Street, but that would have meant awkward explanations he was not prepared to make with Mrs. Hudson at the moment. It was with some regret that he kissed a slumbering Molly once more, got out of her warm, comfortable bed, dressed and headed back home to a lonely flat.

* * *

 **Author's note:** So, Sherlock made his feelings quite clear to Molly without mentioning the big "L" word. Do you think he should have confessed that he loved her? Or do you think he was wise to not rush into things, especially in light of the impending case?

I hope you enjoyed this long-awaited reunion between them. What do you think will happen next?

Even a few words in the review box below would be appreciated :)


	16. An Almost Fatal Plan

Molly wasn't surprised to find Sherlock gone when she woke. She vaguely remembered his farewell kiss. Her only hope was that the case would not drag onto long. It felt as if her life was in a holding pattern.

The following day, Molly received a text from Sherlock

 _Plan is underway. Don't forget, it is only for a case._

Molly did not respond. She knew he did not expect her to, but it was difficult nonetheless. The content of his message had been clear. Janine was interested, as she had expected. She didn't even know the woman and she wanted to find her and tell her to back off, that Sherlock was already spoken for.

For the first few days, when Molly would head to Baker Street to get Victoria after her shift, Mrs. Hudson would tell her that Sherlock had visited with his daughter each day for a short time.

On Victoria's birthday at the end of the week, Molly arrived to pick Victoria up after work. "Where's my birthday girl?" she called as soon as Mrs. Hudson opened the door.

"Look Mummy, teddy!" said Victoria, running towards her. She was holding a teddy bear almost as large as she was herself. It was quite a comical sight.

"How lovely," Molly told her daughter with a smile before looking at Mrs. Hudson. "Thank you, Mrs. Hudson."

The older woman shook her head. "Oh, that wasn't from me. Sherlock brought it down for her at lunchtime. He even sang happy birthday to her."

Molly's heart lurched. She wished she could have been there to see that. She missed him so much and wondered how his case was going. Was he already seeing Janine, kissing her? Jealousy flickered through her at the thought of that but she pushed it aside as Mrs. Hudson continued talking.

"Victoria also has something special to tell you too."

"You do?" questioned Molly, looking at her daughter and scooping her into her arms, teddy and all.

Victoria nodded her head vigorously. "I've done a wee, Mummy!" she said proudly.

Molly opened her mouth in astonishment. She had been trying to encourage Victoria to tell her if she felt like she needed to go, so far without success. Obviously, Victoria had some awareness of needing to make a bowel movement, by the way she would wander off to do it in her nappy as she had done at Baker Street the morning after the wedding, when Sherlock had ended up changing her dirty nappy, but this was the first indication she was starting to understand the urge to wee. To clarify though she asked, "You mean on the toilet?"

"Yes, Mummy," responded Victoria and Molly hugged her closer.

"I'm so proud of you darling! Does Daddy know?" She looked over at Mrs. Hudson questioningly.

"Sherlock doesn't know," replied the elderly woman. "He had already gone when Victoria came up to me and said she needed to wee, so I took her to the toilet and held her over it. I guess I'll need to get one of those special toilet seats for toddlers now." She came over and ruffled Victoria's hair. "Nanny was so proud of you!"

"Well, thank you, Mrs. Hudson. This is certainly an auspicious day," declared Molly, setting her toddler down, "but I guess we should be going."

"If you don't have plans for dinner, I baked a special birthday cake and I made a lasagna yesterday," said Mrs. Hudson. "I took some up for Sherlock but he said he had dinner plans so there is plenty left I can heat up." She frowned slightly. "I'm assuming those dinner plans were not with you?"

Molly flushed slightly and glanced at Victoria who was fortunately preoccupied with making her teddy bear dance. "Not with me," she agreed, feeling jealousy spear through her at the thought of Sherlock having dinner with another woman.

Mrs. Hudson pursed her lips. "He left here in a hurry at around four-thirty today as well. What on earth is up with him?"

Molly shrugged casually, even though her stomach tightened at the thought that Sherlock had undoubtedly been successful with Janine and was pursuing her, or she was pursuing him. Even though he had told her about his plan, it still felt like a betrayal. "Sherlock is a big boy. I'm sure he has his reasons for whatever it is he is doing," she said, hoping Mrs. Hudson would not detect the slight wobble in her voice.

Apparently she was not entirely successful because the landlady patted her arm. "Well I certainly hope he will put on his big boy pants and realise what a treasure he has in you and Victoria."

Molly felt tears prick her eyes and she blinked them away. Mrs. Hudson had been so good to her and she appreciated the words.

She and Victoria stayed for dinner and cake. Molly half hoped that Sherlock would return home while they were still there, just so she could catch a glimpse of him, but he had not returned by seven-thirty and Molly couldn't find an excuse to linger any longer by that time. There was one consolation though. Victoria had tugged on her hand after dinner.

"Need to wee, Mummy." She successfully used the toilet again, as if to show her mother she truly understood what she was doing.

 _It's funny,_ reflected Molly to herself afterwards. _For weeks I've been trying to get her to use the potty chair without success and now she is ready to do it by herself._ That certainly set credence to the idea that children all had their own timetable when it came to potty training and there was no point in forcing it upon them.

After putting Victoria to bed that night, Molly picked up the photo frame and moved her finger along the image of Sherlock. It had only been a few days and she already missed him so much. She hoped he could get his case solved in a timely manner so they could plan a future together.

Unfortunately, this didn't appear to be the kind of case that could be dealt with quickly, Molly discovered to her dismay as another week passed.

Since Victoria's birthday, Sherlock seemed to have forgotten his daughter existed and Molly was disappointed. Mrs. Hudson started to talk about that dark-haired woman who was monopolising his time, coming and going from Sherlock's flat at odd hours. Apparently the game was on, as Sherlock would say.

"I don't understand it, dear," she said to Molly. "Why is he spending time with another woman? After you broke off your engagement, I assumed the two of you would get closer. I must confess, I even hoped you might be a family together."

Molly had to bite her tongue and keep silent about what was going on. She didn't dare tell the dear lady the truth, so she merely said, "What Sherlock does is his business. If he doesn't want to see his daughter or me, so be it." Once again, she couldn't help betraying her feelings in the slight bitter note that crept into her voice. She was jealous, insanely so. The man she loved was going out with another woman and presumably kissing her by now. Her logical mind continued to be at war with her bleeding heart.

The older woman gave her a long look, as if reading Molly's thoughts, but thankfully dropped the subject.

A week after that, Mrs. Hudson told Molly that Sherlock was leaving the flat at night and not returning till morning sometimes. She thought perhaps he was going to stay with the "other woman." Molly thought it unlikely. Sherlock had made it clear he had no intention of progressing further than kissing with Janine, even if it was for a case. She trusted he had been telling her the truth. But if he wasn't going to Janine's, where was he going at night?

Sherlock had still not seen Victoria since her birthday and Molly was beginning to worry. She considered texting him but decided in the end that she had to respect his wishes in regard to the case. She certainly didn't want to do anything that could compromise its success. She wondered though if he had discovered a way to get to Magnussen.

After a month had passed with no word from Sherlock since their night together, Molly was at work when she got a strange request from John, who had recently returned from his honeymoon.

By the tone of John's message, in asking her to get ready to administer a drug test with a urine sample, she suddenly had a terrible suspicion about why Sherlock had been staying away from his daughter. If Sherlock had been using drugs for some reason, she was glad he had chosen not to subject Victoria to his attentions when he was obviously spending time in a drug induced high. What concerned Molly most was the thought that if Sherlock was using drugs, it was unlikely he was unfamiliar with them. She wondered if he had used drugs while they were at uni, or if he had started using afterwards. As far as she knew, he had not touched them in the time she had known him. His only vice seemed to be smoking, which she already knew about, but which she also knew he had controlled with nicotine patches. However, there had been no nicotine patches on his arm a few weeks earlier, so apparently he had successfully kicked that habit too.

Her thoughts whirled as she waited for the men to arrive at the hospital. When Sherlock appeared in the lab, accompanied by John, Mary and some other young man Molly didn't recognise, he wouldn't meet her eyes. He didn't look well either, she thought. His eyes were slightly too bright, his complexion too flushed and his hair, well, it was still gorgeous as usual, even if it was slightly unruly. Her eyes drank in the sight of the man she had not seen in a month and she wished she could throw her arms around him and kiss him, but this was no time for foolish romantic notions, she had a job to do.

When Sherlock's urine tested positive for drugs, Molly couldn't help the fury that spread through her. Granted, the level of drugs in his system was not that of a hardened drug user, but even so, if this was the method he had planned on using to get at Magnussen, which she suspected was the reason he had been doing it, otherwise why would he have begun using that way out of the blue, it was even worse than fake-dating another woman because it posed a danger to his life.

Her lack of knowledge about this _hurt_. And because she was hurting, she had to retaliate in some way, to show Sherlock what he had done was _not_ okay with her. Without really thinking about it, just acting in the heat of the moment, she slapped him hard three times and told him in no uncertain terms what she thought of his actions. To his credit, the detective only reacted mildly. She supposed his comment about her engagement being off was made to pretend he had been ignorant of the fact until then.

"Please do relax, this is all for a case," she heard Sherlock say to John, and Molly recalled he had used almost the exact same words during his text to her. She was right then, this _had_ been his plan all along, besides going out with the maid of honour from John and Mary's wedding. Instinctively she knew he had not told her of this part of his plan, because he knew she would have tried to dissuade him or possibly thrown him out of her flat. Taking drugs was no small thing. Molly had seen enough overdose victims to realise the danger of any drug use, whether recreational or more serious. People could die at any time. It was like playing a game of Russian roulette.

When Sherlock continued talking to John, saying, "There's every chance that my drug habit might hit the newspapers. The game is on," Molly understood the method to Sherlock's madness in going to such lengths to get at Magnussen, to expose his "secret" in a public way, but it did not make her any less angry about it. She couod only hope that, having attracted the newspaperman's attention, he would cease taking the drugs and solve the case already. His daughter needed him and so did she. Sherlock shot her one last, rather heated look before he headed out of the lab, followed by John, Mary and that other guy, whose name had turned out to be someone named Bill Wiggins. She was still livid, but at the same time, mow she was worried as well.

She did decide to send Sherlock one terse text that night.

 _Is it worth risking your life for a case?_

Sherlock didn't respond and the next day she knew why.

When Molly arrived at work, she was immediately called into Mike Stamford's office. She was a little apprehensive. Mike didn't call people into his office unless they were in trouble for making some error. Had she messed up a post-mortem? After Mike spoke to her, she wished that had been the case, rather than what it actually was.

"You had better sit down, Molly," Mike told her sombrely when she entered his office.

She sat. "Am I in trouble? Did I do something wrong?" she queried apprehensively.

"No, no, of course not," he assured her. "Your work, as always, is exemplary. I have some rather bad news. It's about Sherlock."

Molly felt a prickle of dread run through her. "Oh God," she whispered, "Please don't tell me he overdosed."

Mike looked at her curiously. "Overdosed? Since when is Sherlock a drug addict?"

Molly gave him a confused look, even as she answered the question. "He...he was in yesterday. John brought him to me and he tested positive for drugs."

Mike looked shocked. "Well, he's a bloody idiot. Why on earth would a great detective like him be using drugs?"

Molly didn't bother responding to what was obviously a rhetorical question. "Well, if it wasn't an overdose, what happened?" asked Molly, feeling rather desperate.

Mike gave her a sympathetic look. "I know this will come as a shock. He was admitted with a severe gunshot wound to the chest last night."

Molly put her hands to her mouth. "He was...shot?" Horror washed over her and visions of Sherlock lying dead in the morgue, his body awaiting a post-mortem filled her mind. _This time it won't be a look-alike, but the real thing,_ she thought, and had to choke back a sob.

Her supervisor nodded. "I'm afraid so. Your friend was somewhere he should not have been anyway. According to what John told me, somehow Sherlock managed to get into the offices of Charles Magnussen, the newspaperman, and he apparently disturbed a robbery in progress - lucky for Magnussen I guess. The burglar knocked out Magnussen and shot Sherlock."

"'Is he...is he dead?" she asked fearfully, barely managing to get the words out, feeling the tears come to her eyes. Her mind clouded with discombobulated thoughts on how she could let Victoria know her father was dead.

Mike's eyes widened. "Oh dear, I'm sorry to alarm you. No, he isn't dead, but he is in serious but stable condition. He died on the table apparently. The surgeon had administered the paddles with no success, and had given up, but out of nowhere his heart started beating again on its own. Most extraordinary. He must have a guardian angel."

 _Oh, thank God,_ thought Molly, as relief washed over her, but she knew she had to see for herself that he would be okay. "I have to see him, Mike. Please, can I go to him?"

"I knew you'd want to see him," said Mike, resting his elbows on his desk and putting his chin in his hands. "I know you've been friends for years. Take all the time you need. There is nothing urgent on the schedule for you today, so just come back when you've reassured yourself he will be okay. He might not be conscious though."

"Thank you, Mike." Molly felt the tears spill over onto her cheeks and she brushed them away. How could Sherlock have allowed this to happen? How could he put his life in danger when he had a daughter to think about, and her as well? Her thoughts were in turmoil, a mixture of anger, fear and love all at once.

Mike came from around his desk and placed a consoling hand on her shoulder. "He'll be okay, Molly." He gave her Sherlock's room number and she headed downstairs.

She entered the room hesitantly. The beeping of the heart monitor and the sight of the man lying so still in the bed made her heart constrict with anguish. There was a nasal cannula delivering oxygen and the whole image of a vulnerable Sherlock brought tears to her eyes.

 _How could he have allowed this to happen?_ she wondered again.

She walked to the bed and looked at the man she loved. She had almost lost him. Pulling a chair up to the bed, Molly sat with him, holding his pale, long-fingered hand, a hand that usually had so much strength and vitality, a hand that knew how to caress her skin so delicately, one that now seemed limp and lifeless. She watched him breathe in and out slowly, and listened to the thankfully steady beep of the heart monitor. It was a miracle he had survived. At one point, after about ten minutes, his fingers tightened slightly on hers and she thought he might be returning to consciousness, but he didn't. Finally, somewhat reassured that his life was not in danger anymore, she brushed aside the curls on his forehead and pressed a kiss to it. Then she returned to work, feeling slightly better, but still less focussed than she usually was.

When she went to Baker Street to pick up Victoria, Mrs. Hudson was horrified when Molly told her quietly that Sherlock had been shot.

Molly didn't know whether she should say anything to her daughter. Upon Mrs. Hudson's advice she decided to wait. She didn't want the toddler to suffer any undue trauma from seeing her father in hospital, not unless he specifically requested to see her.

Whether Sherlock wished to see Victoria or not though, Molly knew she herself would visit him each day at the hospital during her lunch break. Of that there was no question. And when he was strong enough, she was going to tell him off properly for being a complete arse.

* * *

 **Author's note:** Well, of course things were going to go wrong weren't they? Nothing good comes out of keeping secrets from the one you love.

What will happen when Sherlock wakes up?

Stay tuned...


	17. A Secret Exposed

On the following day, Molly went to visit Sherlock during her lunch break. By that time he had been transferred to a regular hospital room, and his condition was now listed as stable. She saw that woman, Janine, exiting the room. They passed each other in the corridor but Janine showed no sign of recognition. Jealousy flared through Molly as they passed one another. Was Sherlock still seeing her. If not, why had Janine been visiting him?

When Molly went into the room, the first thing she saw was that Sherlock was awake. The head of his bed was elevated and she caught her breath at the look of his bare chest with electrodes attached to it and a gauze bandage over in the spot where he had been shot. It really was a miracle he had survived. She had not slept well the previous night, spending a lot of time praying he would be okay and worrying about him. The second thing she saw were the newspapers strewn on the bed. She picked one up and read the headline - " _Seven times a night in Baker Street._ "

Before she could utter a word, Sherlock's voice came to her, husky and intense. "They're not true, Molly. I wouldn't do that to you. I told you my intention to get to Magnussen through her. She was a bit upset that I used an engagement ring to get her to let me into Magnussen's office."

"You proposed to her?" Molly asked incredulously, looking at Sherlock over the top of the newspaper she was holding. She believed he would not have betrayed her that way, but surely this was taking things a bit far? At the same time she was relieved to hear that things seemed to be over between Sherlock and the other woman.

"Well, not in so many words. I flashed a ring at her through a monitor," he explained, giving her a " _please don't be mad at me_ " look.

Molly dropped the offensive newspaper and folded her arms."So you went out and bought a fake ring to manipulate her?"

"Oh, I assure you, Molly, it was not a fake ring. It was very real," he responded with a twist to his lips.

Molly couldn't help the jealousy that flooded through her. He had bought a real engagement ring for another woman _just for a case_. "Oh my God. You would go to any lengths for a case wouldn't you?"

"I didn't have to, in this instance," he said somewhat cryptically. Molly wondered what he meant, she supposed it was the fact that he had not actually gone so far as to sleep with Janine, but she was too upset to worry about that now.

Her voice was bitter as she said, "I suppose risking your life with drugs, running headlong into danger and potentially leaving your daughter fatherless is acceptable?"

Sherlock winced and reached for her hand. "Please, Molly, I can't deal with this right now. I'm sorry. Let's just leave it at that. You know I'm an arse of the worst kind."

Molly's anger dissolved as the heart monitor registered an increase in his heartbeat. This was not the time to argue with Sherlock when he was so weak, so she accepted the warm touch of his hand. She knew Sherlock tended to do things without thinking and he had not planned for things to get out of hand. She spoke a little more kindly. "No, you're not. I know your heart is in the right place, Sherlock. It's just...well, I don't want Victoria to lose her daddy." _And I don't want to lose you either. S_ he was relieved to hear the monitor return to registering a steady heartbeat once again.

"Don't you know I have no heart? I've been told that before," he quipped, without rancour.

She sat on the edge of the bed. "I don't believe that for a minute. I know you love Victoria, you've said so yourself." _But you don't love me, apparently._ Out loud, she added, "Besides, that heart monitor seems to be registering a steady heartbeat."

Sherlock chuckled softly. "I suppose so." Then his hand tightened on hers. "Now that things are officially over with Janine and me, and I have been unsuccessful for now in regard to this case, because I will need time to recover, can you bring Victoria to me? I haven't seen her for weeks."

"Well, that's not my fault, is it?" she told him, slightly irritated.

"I know, I know," he placated with a pleading look in his eyes. "I didn't want to visit her when I wasn't completely in control of myself."

Molly pursed her lips. "I figured as much. I'm still angry about you taking drugs, and you _will_ explain it to me when you're feeling better because I suspect you haven't been quite forthcoming about your past history with drug usage, have you?" She quirked an accusing eyebrow at him.

Sherlock flushed and tapped his fingers nervously on the bed. "All right, Molly. I will tell you the truth about my past once I'm out of hospital, I promise. So, will you bring our daughter to me?"

"I'll bring her in on my next day off, okay?" she responded. At least he wanted to see his daughter again. Victoria would be happy about that, she knew. She had been confused by her father's sudden prolonged absence. "I'll have to figure out what to tell her about you being in hospital."

"Thank you, Molly. You can just tell her I was in an accident and got hurt," he suggested, then groaned suddenly.

"What's wrong?" she asked in concern, getting off the bed immediately.

"Just some pain. I'll be fine." he responded, groaning again and closing his eyes briefly.

Molly looked over to check on Sherlock's morphine level. Perhaps it needed to be increased if he was experiencing pain. With a sense of shock she saw it was set at zero. A sudden suspicion crossed her mind. "Did Janine turn down your morphine level?"

Sherlock winced. "Initially I put it back up, then changed my mind. I don't need a drug habit, and the morphine will just prolong the effects."

"I'm proud of you," she said, knowing his pain level must be extreme and marvelling at his fortitude. But then again, this was the man who had endured unbearable torture at the hands of Serbian terrorists. He was as obviously no stranger to pain. She leaned over to kiss his cheek, but he moved his head and their lips met. For a moment, she felt that same tingling she always felt, but quickly pulled away. "I need to get back to work. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Wait," he said as she turned to leave. "There's something I need to tell you."

She turned back to look at him searchingly. "What is it?"

"I need you to know that in a way, you saved my life after I was shot, Molly." he said enigmatically.

Molly furrowed her brow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"In the few moments after I was shot, my mind palace conjured up images as I reacted to it. The first image I had was of you, and you told me what to do to maximize my chances of survival." He smiled slightly, as if in remembrance. "I know it wasn't real, Molly, but it _felt_ real. I hope that goes a little way towards explaining that you are still very much in the forefront of my thoughts despite everything that has happened."

Molly swallowed. That did mean a lot to her, to know that he had been thinking of her in his darkest moments. "Thank you for telling me, Sherlock. I...I'm glad to know I still have a place in your life,"she said softly.

He frowned. "Why would you even doubt that? I need you, Molly. Please don't give up on me."

 _But needing is not the same as loving someone,_ she thought silently to herself. Perhaps that's just the way it was always going to be and she should just accept it for what it was. She reached over again to squeeze his hand briefly. "I need you too, Sherlock, but I really do have to go. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," he murmured in agreement, and she fancied there was a caressing note in his voice.

The next day when Molly entered Sherlock's room, she decided it was time to confront him about his drug use. She wasn't going to wait for him to be out of hospital before she received an explanation. He was looking decidedly better, and she didn't want Sherlock to have time to think about how he could explain things to mitigate the seriousness of the subject.

Sherlock watched her as she sat on the bed and faced him. "You look serious, Molly," he commented.

"That's because what I'm about to ask you is very serious," she responded, then licked her lips. She hoped he would be truthful. "Sherlock, are you a drug addict?" she asked in a rush.

Sherlock pursed his lips. "I don't think of myself that way. I was a user and perhaps my brother would say I am a recovering addict because I did end up in rehab after I finished university, but I have been clean for years, until recently, obviously."

Molly bit her lip. He had mentioned university. "Were you…were you on drugs when we met?" she asked hesitantly.

He flushed slightly. "I had been dabbling in drugs, yes. But I swear to you, I didn't touch them during that period in which we were getting to know one another. It was only afterwards that I went back to using."

Suddenly tears came to her eyes. "Was it because of me that you started using again?"

He reached out and took her hand. "No, of course not. In fact, if anything, you provided a distraction for me that kept me off them. In a way you were like a light in the darkness of my life. Once you were back out of it, I simply returned to my usual methods of dealing with life in general. Once my brother sent me off to rehab, I got clean, and solving crime became my replacement addiction, I suppose you could say."

A tear streaked down her face, and Sherlock released her hand to wipe it away. "And this latest dabble into drugs? Are you going to be able to stay clean?"

Sherlock indicated the screen that showed his morphine level was still set at zero. "I've managed so far," he stated. His lips tilted upwards. "I have a lot of motivation to stay clean, don't I?"

Molly wondered if he was talking about Victoria or herself, or both of them. "Make sure you do," she told him, as she got up to leave. She was glad that talk was out of the way and that he had been honest with her about it. She wiped away her remaining tears with a sleeve. "See you tomorrow."

He nodded and she felt his eyes on her as she left the hospital room.

The following day, Molly was just drinking a coffee and eating her lunch before going to see Sherlock, when his brother unexpectedly appeared at her table.

"Miss Hooper," he began with his usual lack of consideration for her title, but she didn't correct him as she saw the pinched look on his face, "it appears my brother has gone missing. I don't suppose you have any idea where he might have gone? I know he stayed with you after he faked his death. Has he stayed with you at any other time? Have you perhaps accommodated him in any way? Has he used your place as a bolt hole?"

Molly blushed. Was Mycroft suspicious at all about what had happened back then? She assumed if Mycroft knew his brother had a child, he would have definitely not allowed it to remain a secret.

"That was a long time ago. Just the spare bedroom. Well, my bedroom." Hastily she added, "We agreed he needs the space," not wanting Mycroft to get suspicious about what Sherlock might have been doing with her. "But he has not stayed with me since that time," she lied. There was no need for Sherlock's brother to know about her private life. She hated lying, but, well, she had lied about his death to so many people, and this was nothing compared to that.

Sherlock did turn up later via ambulance. For some unaccountable reason he had decided to go back home. He refused to give her an explanation though when she asked him, saying only that it had something to do with the Magnussen case. Of course, Sherlock was answerable to nobody but himself, she thought rather bitterly.

Molly folded her arms and looked at him crossly, when he had finished his unsatisfying exclamation. "Any more antics like that and you can forget about seeing Victoria," she said in no uncertain terms. It was a miracle he hadn't killed himself with his ridiculous jaunt out of the hospital.

"I'm sorry, Molly. It won't happen again, I promise," he told her sincerely. "Aren't you off tomorrow? Are you going to bring Victoria in to see me?"

Molly pursed her lips. "I shouldn't, but lucky for you she has been desperate to see you, so it is more for her sake than yours that I will be bringing her."

"Tell her I'm looking forward to seeing her," he said, and Molly knew by the expression on his face that he really was anxious to see their daughter.

"I will," she promised.

The next day, Molly brought Victoria to the hospital and went to Sherlock's room. Victoria was almost beside herself with excitement at the prospect of seeing her daddy again, even though Molly had cautioned her that he had been in an accident and had to get well at the hospital. She deliberately neglected to tell the toddler this was a recent development. Better that Victoria think he had been in hospital for some time rather than simply choosing to not see her.

As soon as they entered, Sherlock's face lit up. "Hello, sweetheart," he said, smiling broadly at Victoria, who promptly climbed onto the bed.

"Be careful, darling," Molly told her. "Remember, Daddy has hurt himself. You must not climb on him."

"'kay Mummy," said their daughter, crawling along the edge of the bed to snuggle close to her father.

Sherlock reached an arm around her and kissed the top of her head, and Molly felt a surge of emotion overwhelm her at the unmistakable look of love in his eyes when he looked at his daughter.

Victoria was just tugging on one of her father's curls as usual and saying "I missed you, Daddy," when Molly heard the door open.

She turned around and opened her mouth in horror. By the expression on her face, Molly knew that Mary had overheard Victoria.

"Oh. My. God." said Mary in a voice that matched the astonishment on her face.

"I...I can explain," said Molly quickly, trying to think furiously of an explanation as to why her daughter was referring to Sherlock as "Daddy."

The child turned to look at Mary curiously, and Molly knew she was beaten. The look on Mary's face said it all. Her next words confirmed it.

"Don't even bother to try and explain something, especially if you are going to make up a story. She has Sherlock's eyes." Mary looked at the two adults and gave a wry smile. "I can't believe I didn't put two and two together before in the way you kept looking at one another during my wedding. But I never guessed you had a history together as well." Mary's gaze drifted to settle on Molly. "Now I understand why you've never brought your daughter with you anywhere. I thought you were just being a protective mother." She paused and grinned and turned her piercing stare upon Sherlock. "Oh, wait until I tell John! He is going to laugh all the way into next week. _Sex holiday_ indeed, Sherlock? Seems you've been indulging a lot longer than anyone expected."

Molly blushed furiously as Sherlock spoke up, keeping his arm firmly around Victoria who had lost interest in the stranger and was instead snuggling up to Sherlock with her eyes closed and a piece of his hair grasped in her hand, as if she wished to make sure he didn't get away.

"Please don't tell him, Mary," pleaded Sherlock, placing his free arm protectively across his daughter's body. "It is imperative nobody know I have a child. John is not the best secret keeper in the world and you know Magnussen. If he found out, he would make trouble. He is a blackmailer, after all. I don't need my daughter put in danger by him."

Molly thought it a bit odd that Sherlock would assume Mary knew about the kind of man Magnussen was, but then she supposed John would have shared that information with his wife.

"Fine. I'll keep your secret - for now," stated Mary. "But you are going to have to tell me how this happened."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "The usual way," he said, repeating the same phrase Molly had used when he had posed the question to her after she presented their daughter to him. "I certainly didn't go off and make a deposit at a sperm bank just so that Molly could raise a child all by herself. She and I, well, we got a little, uh, carried away after she helped me successfully fake my death."

So he was not going to say they had had any further sexual intimacy since then. Well, that was fine with her, Molly thought a little sadly. Mary didn't need to know they had had more than a one night stand. Hastily she scooped her daughter up, making Sherlock yelp in the process, as the toddler had still had her hand firmly entangled in a curl. "Well, we should be going," she said, even as Victoria began to wail at being taken from her father.

"You just got here, Molly," Sherlock protested. "Don't go."

"I want Daddy," agreed the toddler petulantly, struggling to get out of Molly's arms.

"Don't leave on my account, Molly," said Mary, giving her a look that made Molly feel rather uncomfortable. She had a feeling Mary was not satisfied with Sherlock's seeming one night stand explanation for their child. "We must catch up soon. I need some pregnancy tips." Turning to Sherlock she added, "I'll pop back in later. You spend some time with Molly and your daughter. I think you need it."

With that, Mary was gone. Mary was pregnant? Molly let out a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. If I had known Mary was coming, I would never have brought Victoria here."

"I was not expecting Mary either and I asked to see Victoria, Molly," Sherlock responded a little more casually than Molly had expected. "Don't blame yourself. It was bound to happen eventually. Mary is an astute woman and I know she will keep our secret for now. She's very good with secrets." Molly didn't have a chance to ponder those strange words because he continued to talk. "You know I do intend to acknowledge Victoria when the time is right, don't you? I just can't do it now, not with this Magnussen case still unresolved."

"I want Daddy," said Victoria again, and Molly set her back on the bed. The toddler immediately clambered back up to lie beside her father.

"That's fine," Molly said with a sigh. _How long is this case going to still take?_ she wondered silently.

Unexpectedly, Sherlock said, "Actually, I'm rather glad Mary knows. You should have more than Mrs. Hudson to confide in. Mary is a decent woman. I think the two of you could be good friends."

"You think so? I do like her too," admitted Molly. She didn't know Mary very well yet, but she made John happy, and that was enough for Molly.

"You should definitely be friends. When her baby is born, it will be good for Victoria to have a playmate, when her baby is old enough of course," he told her.

Molly furrowed her brow. "You already knew she was pregnant?"

"Of course, didn't you hear my slip at the wedding after I played the violin? I said I'd always be there for all three of them," responded Sherlock, and his lips tilted upwards.

"I...I wasn't really paying attention. I didn't really hear what you said. I was looking over at the flower you threw at Janine," confessed Molly, as she felt colour creeping up her cheeks. No wonder Janine had believed Sherlock's interest in her was genuine.

To Molly's astonishment, Sherlock answered that with, "Yes well, the flower would have been for you if you hadn't been engaged to _another_ man."

It was odd, the way he had seemed to emphasise that word - _another_ man? He probably meant nothing by it, but oh, if only he meant that he wished she were engaged to _him_ instead. _Wishful thinking, get your head out of the clouds, Molly,_ she told herself sternly.

Molly checked her watch. "I really do need to be going now. Come on Victoria. Your daddy needs his rest. We'll come back another time."

Victoria lifted her head and pouted at her mother. "Pwomise?"

"I promise," she said with a nod. "Now give your daddy a kiss goodbye."

Victoria did so, and Molly was just about to pick her up when Sherlock asked, "Don't I merit a kiss from her mother as well? I am recovering from a near fatal gunshot wound, after all."

Molly rolled her eyes but bent down to give him a chaste kiss on the cheek.

"No you don't," Sherlock murmured, reaching to pull her head down to his properly, where he made sure their lips met in what was decidedly not a chaste kiss. "I'm not done with you, Molly Hooper," he warned her in a seductive tone and she felt colour rise in her cheeks again as heat shot through her.

"I, um...okay," she stammered, not sure of how to respond. Who was she kidding anyway? If he still wanted her, she wasn't going to complain.

She took Victoria then and headed out of the hospital room, not daring to look back, in case Sherlock should see by her eyes how much she still loved him.

* * *

 **Author's note:** Well, I bet you didn't see that coming, did you? Honestly, I think Mary is the perfect person to know about Victoria's paternity. I've always felt she definitely was a big advocate for Sherlock and Molly in the series, so this seemed a logical step to take, in order to give Molly another confidante and to emphasize even more Mary's choices later in the series to push the couple together by having them both be godparents for Rosie. A little foreshadowing, I think you would call it.

Thanks to mamabear04 for her comment about Sherlock telling Molly that she was the person who came to his mind after he had been shot. I wrote that extra part of the scene thanks to her.

I hope you liked this chapter and would love to see your reactions in the review box below. Don't forget the follow/favourite buttons as well if you enjoy my stories! If you are someone who reads many works of fanfiction but only reviews those by certain authors, please consider making me one of the chosen few for whom you leave feedback. It really does make a difference to hear from people, and I appreciate it very much.


	18. Walking a Fine Line

**Author's note:** With my current performance/rehearsal schedule, I'm later than usual in publishing this week. I don't know if I will manage another chapter this week so please bear with me. I kind of have to put my paid job first while I have it!

* * *

Sherlock watched as Molly and his daughter left the hospital room. Despite the constant pain he was experiencing due to the fact he had turned off his morphine, wanting to be clean of the drugs again, he felt a little more hopeful.

The past month had been difficult. Wooing another woman when he only wanted to woo Molly had been harder than he had expected. The only way he could tolerate the kisses of another woman was to imagine they were coming from Molly. But they didn't feel the same. They didn't move him or give him those stirrings of desire. He had to force himself to not pull away from Janine. The most difficult part of his plan to enact though was pretending he wished to marry the other woman.

After some thought, Sherlock had decided to use the real engagement ring he had bought for Molly after he had returned to London. It was already there, it was convenient to use, he told himself. Bot oh, how he wished he could be giving it to the real object of his affections.

The whole drug usage thing had been easier to deal with than Janine. He had been careful to not go too far with it, he was controlling it well enough. He hadn't expected John to call him out on it though and make him go to Molly for a drug test. Molly was the one person he didn't want knowing he was using drugs. Her reaction had been exactly the way he had expected her to react, which was why he had not told her about that part of the plan.

He took those slaps though, not resisting, knowing she had earned the right to do it, even if he couldn't help making that comment about her engagement being over, as if to show his powers of deduction were still in evidence even though he was high.

How had things gone wrong that night, though? How had he not realised that Mary had a secret past? Were there any clues he should have seen? Of course, her knowing about a skip code, and knowing the room number of John's former commanding officer. He should have known she was no ordinary nurse then. And then there was the perfume which had made him think the intruder was Lady Smallwood. He had not been prepared for what happened next. Mary, his friend Mary, had shot him.

Sherlock remembered those few moments after the bullet entered his body, when Molly had been the first person to pop into his mind. His mind palace version of her had told him which way to fall, told him not to go into shock.

The whole experience with Moriarty goading him though puzzled him. Was he dead and having a life after death experience or merely unconscious? If his heart had stopped, how had it started beating on its own? These were things Sherlock couldn't even begin to comprehend. It called into question his whole belief, or lack thereof, of a higher power at work.

That visit to his hospital room from Janine had been a bit awkward. He supposed he deserved to be the target of her wrath with those fictitious stories. The only thing that really bothered him though was if Molly saw them and believed them. Thank God, when she arrived right after Janine left, she had accepted his explanation. He had almost slipped up when talking about the ring though. It was just as well she hadn't pressed him on it being a real one.

Sherlock had been so anxious to deal with the Magnussen and Mary situation, he had been very foolish, leaving the hospital unexpectedly the way he did. He hated not being able to resolve things though. Well, at least those things were now accomplished. A time had been set up for Christmas Day to meet with Magnussen. John knew about Mary now, and so did he, exactly what her past had been. His friends would have to sort through some things. But he was sure eventually John would forgive Mary, he'd forgiven Sherlock for faking his death, after all. Sherlock himself had already forgiven her. She had called an ambulance for him, and she had not shot him fatally.

Now though, Sherlock would have to play a waiting game in order to get at Magnussen once and for all. He resolved to use whatever time he could between now and then to recuperate and then spend it with his pathologist and their daughter. They were the two most important people in his life. Now that Mary knew about them having a child, perhaps she could be trusted with the secret that he and Molly were still involved. At least he hoped they were still involved. He didn't have to go off with Janine anymore.

Molly continued to visit with Sherlock in the hospital, bringing Victoria to visit on a couple more occasions when she wasn't working.

On the day of his release about two weeks after being admitted, Molly offered her flat as a place of recuperation.

"You need someone to look after you," she told him.

"I'm sure I can manage. Mycroft can get a nurse for me," Sherlock told her with a pained smile.

"A nurse won't look after you like I can," she informed him tartly and he capitulated. They discussed their plans before she headed back to finish her shift. They would leave together afterwards and pick up Victoria from Mrs. Hudson while he fetched some clothes. Secretly, he was glad that Molly wished to look after him.

Surprisingly, Mycroft was even pleased at the news that he would not be returning to Baker Street, when he made one last visit before Sherlock was discharged.

"Please give my thanks to Miss-" he paused at Sherlock's glare and amended it to "Doctor Hooper for being willing to take you on as a patient. Do try to behave yourself." Sherlock was just wondering if Mycroft had somehow guessed that he and Molly were more than friends, when his brother added, "I do hope your petulance and childishness does not cause her to regret her generosity in offering to play nursemaid. Perhaps I should offer my condolences instead."

Sherlock folded his arms and rolled his eyes at his brother. "She was perfectly fine with me staying with her after I faked my death, if you recall, Mycroft," he said tersely.

Mycroft's eyes narrowed. "She has a child doesn't she?" he questioned and again, Sherlock was worried that Mycroft might guess at the truth.

"Er, yes, she does. A daughter," he said, trying to keep his expression neutral. He need not have worried though.

Mycroft gave a dry laugh. "I imagine that will be interesting for her, to have to deal with the care of a youngster and a man-child. I know you have little contact with children, so at least try not to upset the child while you are there," his brother cautioned.

Sherlock's hands clenched. He really wished he could throw it in Mycroft's face that not only was Victoria his own child, but that he was a very good father to her. Of course, he did no such thing, being mindful of the fact that if Mycroft were aware of Victoria's true paternity, he would undoubtedly start poking his nose in where it was not wanted. Instead, he said through clenched teeth, "I shall endeavour to not upset the child or Molly. Satisfied?"

"Very well, see that you do not," responded Mycroft with a sniff, before taking his leave.

Sherlock was itching to leave by the time Molly's shift ended and she came to him. "Do you have everything?" she asked, her eyes making a quick sweep of the room which was now bare. All the get-well cards from family, friends and fans had been thrown away and the flower arrangements had been donated to brighten the nurse's station.

"Hell, yes. If I ever see the inside of another hospital room it will be too soon," he responded and Molly pursed her lips.

"I certainly hope not," she told him.

Together they went to Baker Street to get Victoria. Mrs. Hudson was delighted to see the two of them on good terms again. "I never could understand what you saw in that Janine woman," she told Sherlock in a rather scolding manner. "You should be more considerate of your daughter in future and her mother as well." Her lips pressed together in a thin line briefly before she added, "I do not understand why you feel the need to still keep this secret about Victoria either."

Sherlock sighed. "It is out of necessity, Mrs. Hudson. I am still in the middle of a sensitive case which requires me to shield my daughter from a dangerous man. If he knew I had a child, he would undoubtedly use the knowledge for his own ends."

Mrs. Hudson still looked unconvinced and Sherlock was pleased when Molly interposed with, "It's alright Mrs. Hudson. He is trying to keep our daughter safe. Once the case is over, Sherlock plans to reveal the truth to everyone."

"I should hope so," said Mrs. Hudson with a sniff that almost exactly emulated the one Mycroft had given him earlier. He knew his landlady was just trying to be a friend to Molly and her surrogate granddaughter, but really - wasn't _he_ supposed to be the one she cared about like a son? Now it appeared he fell a distant third to Victoria and Molly.

Victoria came to him then and said, "Up, Daddy!" At least his daughter didn't sniff at him like his brother and landlady did, he thought, picking her up carefully and heading upstairs to his flat. He had intended to just grab a few things while Molly waited with their daughter, but no way was he going to relinquish the toddler when she obviously wanted to spend time with him, even if he was disobeying doctors orders by lifting more than twenty pounds. Victoria was worth the risk of further aggravation to his injury.

Instead, he held her and directed Molly as to what clothes he should take to her flat, as well as one of his coats. When her arms were laden with clothes, he took pity on her and set Victoria down. He tossed the garments, including his favourite red dressing gown into a box which had been provided by Mrs. Hudson, laid his coat on top of it and went back downstairs, as Molly took care of locking the flat behind them and helping Victoria walk down the stairs with her.

It was a relief to get himself settled into Molly's flat. He treasured those weeks with her, where she fed him and generally nursed him back to health. He was able to do his part as well, enjoying for the first time the opportunity to spend time with Victoria away from the watchful eye of Mrs. Hudson.

His daughter was a bright two-year-old and learning more every day. The only problem was that she quite openly called him Daddy, which meant there was no way he could be with her and go to see John at the same time, not that there was any need for that right now, seeing as he was in no condition to do any case work and the plan for Magnussen was still several weeks away. Molly, however, made trips to see Mary with Victoria when John was working at the clinic. Apparently Mary was keeping their secret and Molly said that she and Mary had been enjoying spending time together, talking about pregnancy symptoms and the like.

"Molly, it's time," he told her one evening after dinner as they were sitting comfortably on the sofa, ostensibly watching a game show, although really, Sherlock was mostly watching Molly. He longed to run his fingers through her long hair, to hold her properly. He couldn't help feeling she was still a little upset over everything that had transpired with Janine, the drugs and his shooting. Any kisses between them were always initiated by him. In addition, those kisses were not of a passionate nature, more a kiss hello or goodbye when she was heading to or from work.

She turned her head and looked at him a bit suspiciously. "Time for what?"

His lips quirked. "I know what you are thinking, Molly." He brushed a hand lightly along her arm and her breath hitched slightly. "I have to admit, I'd like to progress further than chaste kisses once again, now that my body has almost fully recovered..."

He saw the blush appear on her face and she licked her lips nervously. It gave him hope that she was still affected by him, even as he was to her. They had been sharing her bed, after all, she no longer had a spare room now that Victoria was using it, and Molly had told him the bed was big enough for both of them. She had also said it was better for her to be close to him in case he needed something from her as he recuperated. On several occasions he had been tempted to hold her close at night, but had been too aware of how his body would react if he tried to do so. He desperately wanted to be intimate with her again, but he had been in no hurry to rush things before his body could deal properly with the exercise that would entail. But at last he felt the weeks of recuperation had served him well enough that he was ready to move forward.

"Anyway," he continued, before she could speak, "I think it's time to tell my parents about our situation."

She looked at him in surprise. "Our situation?"

"Mummy has been asking to come and visit me to make sure she can see for herself I am doing better," he explained. "When I told her you had been looking after me, well, she and my father told me they were going to come here to London and see me this weekend."

Molly's brow furrowed. "Are they coming here then, or to Baker Street?"

Sherlock looked a bit embarrassed. "I gave them your address. Anyway, you know once she meets Victoria, Mummy is going to put two and two together. I'm not a genius by accident, I inherited it from her."

Molly laughed at him. "Modest as ever, I see."

He gave her an offended look. "I am only speaking the truth about my intellect."

He saw Molly was about to speak, when Victoria spoke up. She had been sitting in her high chair, colouring with crayons. "Finished, Mummy, Daddy," she said proudly, and the parents went over to look at her efforts. Molly was delighted that she had finally started saying Mummy rather than Mama.

"That is beautiful, sweet pea," Sherlock said, kissing the top of his daughter's head. "Do you want Daddy to turn the page and let you colour some more?"

"Yes please," said the toddler.

He turned to a fresh page for her. "There you go."

Molly had been watching their interaction with a smile on her face. Once Victoria was again busy with her colouring and they were back on the sofa, she asked, "Sherlock, what are you going to tell your parents about us?"

"The truth. That we are seeing one another. We are, aren't we?" He looked at her steadily. Did she agree that they were in a relationship?

She didn't respond directly. "If you tell your parents that, how are you going to keep it from others?"

He shrugged casually. "I'll tell them they must keep quiet, for Victoria's sake. I still need to get to Magnussen. He's a dangerous man, and he cannot know about her. He'd use her as a pressure point to get at me. I'm sure my parents can be trusted. They will just be glad I've provided them with a grandchild." He rolled his eyes and then met her gaze. "You haven't answered me though, Molly. Are we still in a relationship, secret though it must continue to be from everyone aside from my parents, or are we not?"

Molly twisted her fingers together in her lap. "You're sure that is what you want? You are ready to define it that way?"

Sherlock let out a huff of exasperation. "Oh for God's sake, Molly. I asked you to wait for me before I left London. I asked you to break off your engagement with Tom. Do you really think I've changed my mind? I still want to be with you. It is just that all these damned outside influences keep getting in our way. Maybe it's you who doesn't want me anymore." For a moment, he worried that was truly the case and lowered his eyes to his own hands which had balled into fists.

She reached up then, drawing his head close to her. "Foolish man, I still want to be with you too," she told him softly. And then they were kissing properly for the first time since the night they had made love before the Magnussen case had taken up his time. He kissed her passionately, moving his mouth over hers, holding her close, feeling that longing for her again, the need to be closer. If Victoria hadn't been there, he would have attempted to do more than kiss her, but finally he released her. "I need you Molly," he said huskily. "Tonight, after our daughter is asleep, I want us to be together again, as more than simple bedmates."

Molly didn't pretend to misunderstand. Her eyes flickered, as if in nervousness, he felt her tremble a little, then she nodded. "I..want that too," she confessed.

And that night, after their daughter was safely tucked into bed, Sherlock took Molly in his arms and began to kiss her hungrily as soon as they exited Victoria's room. Their movements were rather desperate as they undressed one another in fevered passion on the way to her bedroom.

Sherlock's hands moved across her silken skin, his memory recalling every place where she responded best to his touch.

Molly, for her oart, kissed the area around the scar formed by the bullet, and his breath hitched at the feeling of her soft lips on his own skin that way. "More battle scars," she murmured before continuing her own tender ministrations.

His brain clouded as waves of passion overcame him. His senses were overwhelmed and he clung to her blindly, knowing she was his lifeline in an ever-changing world.

Sherlock wanted to tell her how much he loved her, but the words stuck in his throat. He couldn't admit them yet. He told himself he would, after Magnussen was put away for his crimes. _Yes,_ he decided. _Once Magnussen is behind bars, I'm going to tell Molly I love her, and I'm going to ask her to marry me._

Being with her again intimately was like reaching a port in a storm, but not any port, it was home where he belonged. Molly was nothing, if not completely whole-hearted in the way she gave herself to him. He was so lucky to have her. He was pretty sure she loved him as he loved her. The way she treated him, looked after him, showed him clearly how much she cared.

Finally, as the tempest of passion abated, he held her in his arms and stroked her hair until their breathing regulated and he knew she was asleep. It was then that he ventured to whisper softly, "I love you, Molly," before drifting off into slumber himself.

It was only early the next morning, when Sherlock woke before Molly's alarm, that he remembered something important. Those damned foil packets, one of which he should have used, were still in the drawer, at least he assumed they were. God, he was an idiot.

What if he'd got her pregnant again?

* * *

 **Author's note:** And here we go on the merry-go-round again. That magnetic attraction has pulled them together again. I've often wondered how Sherlock recuperated from his injury because there is quite a time jump. What is your own headcanon for that time period? I like the idea of Molly looking after him, although I don't think it would have been the case in actuality. But hey, this is a dream, so I get to weave it in my own way.

What do you think about Sherlock announcing that he wants to tell his parents about Victoria? Are you surprised? How do you think his parents will react?

And make your deductions folks, do you think this encounter will lead to Molly getting pregnant again or not? Share your deductions with me!


	19. Family Secrets and Big Decisions

Sherlock's eyes flicked over to where that long ago picture of Molly and himself was standing next to her alarm clock. It was still in the same place as it had been before he had left to pursue the Magnussen case and Janine, and he was glad she had not tried to put it away again.

Then he thought over the events of the previous night. Much as he regretted not thinking ahead and using protection, he reasoned to himself that it wouldn't be the end of the world if Molly did actually fall pregnant. Certainly, it would complicate matters at the present, but if he was to be honest with himself, he knew he wanted more children with her anyway. He loved her, and a sibling for Victoria would be a good thing. Besides, he fully intended to marry Molly as soon as he could, once things were finished with Magnussen and she accepted his proposal. Well, as long as she accepted it.

He shifted uneasily in the bed beside her. "Sherlock, what's wrong? Are you in pain? Are you sorry we made love?" came her concerned voice.

He frowned at that. "I'm not in pain, and asking if I'm sorry for making love with you is the most preposterous thing to come out of your mouth since you said you would not break off your engagement."

She poked him. "Stop it. Then what is bothering you?"

He raised himself up on one elbow. "Molly, we forgot about using protection."

She gasped in shock. "Oh my God, what if I get pregnant again? What are people going to think? As far as people know, I've already had a baby out of wedlock due to a one-night-stand." Her voice was fearful and he saw tears come to her eyes. "I'll have to leave the hospital, my church.."

"Why would that be necessary? Women get pregnant all the time without being married. Are the people in your church so judgmental they would think less of you because heaven forbid, you were pregnant and unmarried?"

Molly sat up and put her hands around her knees. She didn't look at him, but he saw tears slipping down her cheeks. "You don't understand, Sherlock. Most people at work and church would not think twice about me being pregnant again, but there are a couple who would secretly despise me for being so human as to have sex outside of marriage. I...well, I feel guilty about it myself. I don't want people to think I'm a Christian who doesn't live as one."

"You're right, I don't understand," Sherlock told her, feeling confused. "Isn't Christianity supposed to be all about loving one another and accepting that everyone makes mistakes? I mean, if all Christians were so bloody perfect, there would be no hope for the rest of us would there?"

Molly bit her lip. Her tears were still falling and she sniffed. "That's true, Sherlock, but I can't help feeling that I'm undermining my whole faith by sleeping with you, and well, if I get pregnant again, it will be an outward sign that I'm..." here she whispered brokenly, "a _fornicator_."

He looked at her uncomprehendingly. "What the hell is a fornicator? I'm afraid I'm not familiar with that term, or if I've heard it, I deleted it."

Her lips trembled. "It's someone who has sex outside of marriage."

He let out a frustrated sigh and sat up as well. Apparently religion had many rules he was not aware of. "God, that would apply to a hell of a lot of people, Molly, so you certainly wouldn't be in an exclusive club," he said patiently. "Do you think our being together this way, when neither of us has ever had another sexual partner, is worse than someone who gets divorced, then re-marries? Would you judge someone for making a mistake in being with the wrong person and then gets a second chance with someone else?"

Molly swiped at her tears and looked at him. "Of course I wouldn't judge them. I'd be glad that they found happiness the second time around. We all make mistakes and that shouldn't mean we have to be miserable because of them. As Christians, once we acknowledge and repent of our sin, it is washed away by the blood of Jesus."

Sherlock folded his arms. "Well then, why do you judge yourself so harshly when you don't judge others for their mistakes? Isn't that between you and your God?"

He could tell Molly was seriously contemplating the question. Finally she spoke. "For one thing, Sherlock, I believe there is only one God, we don't each have different Gods, just different perceptions of what the one true God wants of us."

"Alright then, what does God want for you?" he questioned, trying to understand where she was going with this discussion. Just as well the alarm hadn't gone off yet, but it would soon. That was too bad, he'd secretly been hoping for another session of lovemaking before she had to get up for work, but at this rate, there would be no more of it at all, at least, not unless they were married.

"Well, I don't think God wants me to be seen as someone who doesn't consider sex as something special, to be shared with just one person." She sniffed again.

Sherlock sighed. "But Molly, what does it matter what other people think? You and I know we are in a monogamous relationship and it _is_ special for both of us. God can see that and I'm sure He isn't going to judge you for that. You never even slept with Tom, so you have nothing to feel guilty for." It was funny, he reflected after saying the words, he was talking as if he believed in God himself. Maybe he was starting to believe, after all. It certainly seemed his escapes from death on several occasions now were more than mere coincidence. He still couldn't explain that strange dream with Moriarty when his heart had stopped beating. Was it merely his brain shutting down or was there something beyond death?

"I know what you're saying, but I can't help the way I was raised."

He nodded. "I understand. Look, this is something you will have to make a decision about. If you decide sex is off the table, I'll understand, but I have to tell you this - I'm not going anywhere and I'm not going off with anyone else. Do you understand?" He knew he was betraying himself, telling her without words that he loved her, but she had to understand that whatever happened, he only wanted to be with her. There would be no more Janines, even if it seemed that was the best way to proceed with a case. He'd just find another way. He'd made a mistake on that score and it had almost cost him his life as a result.

She smiled slightly at that. "I understand, and I promise I will think about it." Then she looked anxious. "But still, what if I decide we can't be intimate again? It might be too late for that. What if our actions of last night have caused me to get pregnant again?"

"Sweetheart," he said, the endearment slipping out organically, "I promise I'll take care of it if we have conceived again."

Molly gave him a wide-eyed, shocked look. "You don't mean 'take care of it' as in arranging an abortion, do you? Because I do not believe in making a baby, then killing it. I believe all human life is sacred. A baby is innocent and shouldn't have to pay the ultimate price for the mistakes of its parents."

He stared at her. How could she even think he'd want that? Hadn't he proved how much he loved Victoria, even though she hadn't been planned? He had to admit, the thought of having another baby with Molly was not at all an unwelcome one. "God, of course I didn't mean anything like that. I'm not in favour of that either. No, I mean, if we had another baby, I would look after you properly. I promise you Molly, once I put Magnussen behind bars, I'm going to let everyone know Victoria is mine, and to hell with the consequences. If we have another baby on the way, I'll acknowledge it, okay? You are not going to go through it alone."

She leaned over and rested her head on his shoulder then. "Alright, Sherlock. I'm going to hold you to that."

Sherlock was just about to stroke her hair and kiss her reassuringly when the alarm went off, so he contented himself with a quick peck to the side of her head instead. It was time for them to get up and start their day.

Over the next few days, before his parents came to visit, Sherlock found he was enjoying this new, domestic routine. He liked being with Victoria more, taking care of her when Molly was at work, especially as he was still ostensibly recovering and unable to take on new cases. When Victoria napped, he scoured the internet, looking up more information on Appledore. He was sure Magnussen's vaults with all his blackmail information rested beneath the man's mansion. Each day he thought about discussing his plan with Molly to get at Magnussen on Christmas Day, and each day he backed down, sure she would be angry. He didn't want to upset their current status quo.

He enjoyed just being with her at night, kissing her and holding her. They had not made love again, at least not yet. Sherlock knew Molly was still thinking about things. If they were to resume their intimacy that way, he knew she would have to make the decision without him pressing the issue. But oh, he yearned for her and on more than one occasion had had to release his hold on her at night to turn away and force his mind to reassert control over his traitorous body.

On Saturday afternoon, the day Sherlock's parents were due to arrive, he and Molly were ready. Sherlock had prepared a speech to explain the current situation, but he was still a little nervous when Molly opened the door to them.

As she stood back to let the Holmes parents enter, Sherlock was holding Victoria firmly against his hip, despite her struggling and saying "Want down!" as she looked at the strangers.

"Hi Mummy, Daddy." Sherlock rested a hand lightly on Molly's shoulder. "This is Molly. As I've told you before, she is the one who made it possible for me to fake my death, and she is the one who has been looking after me since I got shot." He was about to explain about Victoria but he did not get the chance.

"And this is my grandchild, isn't it?" his mother asked, looking at the little girl he was holding.

Sherlock opened his mouth in surprise. "Erm, yes."

The older woman nodded sagely. "It's the eyes you know. She has the Holmes, well, _my_ eyes." She looked from him to Molly as Mr. Holmes just stood there, looking rather bemused at the turn of events. "So why haven't you mentioned this before? You know I've been desperate to have grandchildren, but had basically given up on it. You just didn't seem interested in women."

"Women, no. Just one woman," Sherlock said, smiling slightly and squeezing Molly's shoulder.

"Want down, Daddy!" Victoria said plaintively and Sherlock set her gently onto the floor. She took off for her room and Molly followed with a parting glance at Sherlock.

Mrs. Holmes crossed her arms together. "I can see by the child's age that she is about two. She was obviously conceived before you left London."

Sherlock flushed. "If you and Daddy will sit down I will explain."

His parents sat on the sofa and Sherlock sat in Molly's yellow armchair. He explained to them how he and Molly had met many years earlier at uni, how they had met again at Bart's years later, and how their relationship had developed.

"I had no idea I was a father until I came back, and by that time Molly was engaged to someone else. So I didn't want to acknowledge Victoria publicly. I also didn't want to put her in danger." He looked seriously from one parent to the other. "That is also why I am telling you this in strictest confidence. You must tell nobody that I have a child. It could be dangerous. I am working on a case and that information could have far-reaching consequences."

Violet Holmes scowled. "So I have a granddaughter I can't acknowledge?" Then her features relaxed slightly. "Nice name by the way."

"Yes it is, isn't it?" said Sherlock absently, not really paying attention, he had to finish what he was talking about. "Once Magnussen has been put away, I will acknowledge my daughter and you can tell the world for all I care." He smirked slightly. "I know you'll want to boast to all your church friends that you have a grandchild, after all."

Violet Holmes pressed her lips together. "I'd boast more if my son was married to the mother of his child," she told him and he could hear the slightly acidic note in her voice. She tilted her head and gave him a curious look. "And what actually is going on between you and Molly? Are you just sharing a child, or are you together? And what about her fiancé? She isn't wearing a ring, I see."

Sherlock glanced back in the direction Molly had gone. There was no sign of her. Victoria was apparently keeping her mother busy. "We're together. She broke off her engagement a couple months ago. As soon as I put this criminal behind bars I intend to propose to Molly."

"You're doing the right thing, son," approved William Holmes. "Unless it is just for the sake of the child," he added, raising a questioning brow.

Sherlock leaned forward in the armchair and rested his elbows on his knees, steepling his fingers together without consciously thinking about it. "As it happens, I bought an engagement ring for Molly right after I returned to London. I intended to propose to her, but then found out she was engaged."

"So you love her then?" asked his mother. She sounded surprised but pleased at the thought.

"Of course I do!" expostulated Sherlock. "Although," he admitted, "I haven't said it in so many words yet. I want to wait until this Magnussen business is over with."

The older woman shook her head. "Are you worried that she doesn't love you back? I don't understand your hesitation. The poor girl must be so confused."

Sherlock scowled. Why did Mummy feel it necessary to put forth her unwanted opinion? "Mummy, I'm a grown man, not a teenager just out for sex," _although this pent up sexual frustration certainly makes me feel like one,_ he admitted silently to himself. "It's my decision as to when I tell Molly I love her. I'll tell her when the time is right and not before."

Her gaze softened. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. I just want you to be happy. Sometimes you have to just reach out and grab for it with both hands."

"I will, Mummy. I'll do it soon. I promise," Sherlock said earnestly.

"So, how are you feeling anyway, Sherlock?" asked his father. "That is, after all, the reason we came to see you."

Violet Holmes looked a little ashamed. "Yes, darling, you just surprised me so much with this news, I quite forgot why we were here."

"Molly has been looking after me very well and I am almost fully recovered. In fact, I suppose I'll be ready to go back to Baker Street soon," Sherlock answered.

Molly returned to the room right then, holding a sleepy looking Victoria. "You're going back to Baker Street?" Her voice sounded disappointed.

He looked at her. He knew how she felt. He didn't particularly wish to leave either. Returning to sleeping alone would be difficult, he thought. But then again, sleeping in the same bed with her and not being able to make love to her was no picnic either. "I really need to get back there soon to concentrate on my case from my home base."

"Oh." Her face fell and he wished he could take her in his arms and reassure her it would only be for a little while.

"May I hold my granddaughter?" asked his mother, reaching out her arms.

"Of course," responded Molly instantly, passing the little girl to the older woman.

"Who are you?" questioned Victoria, looking at the elderly woman curiously. Surprisingly she did not seem afraid.

"I'm your daddy's mummy, and this," Violet indicated William, "is your daddy's daddy. You can call us Grandma and Grandpa."

"Gwamma, Gwampa," repeated the toddler, trying the names. "I have a gwamma, a gwampa and Nanny Hudders." She gave her grandmother a toothy grin.

Sherlock felt a surge of pride go through him, seeing the interaction between his mother and his daughter.

"Who is Nanny Hudders?" questioned Mrs. Holmes, lifting an eyebrow in Sherlock's direction.

"My landlady, Mrs. Hudson. She babysits Victoria," explained Sherlock. "She has acted as a surrogate grandmother since Victoria was born, because Molly has no close relatives." Well, she had an estranged mother, but that wasn't something he needed to talk about.

"Oh." Violet looked from him to Molly. "Well, Molly, you and Victoria should come and stay with us for Christmas, so we can get to know you better."

 _No she can't,_ thought Sherlock, even as Molly opened her mouth to respond. _I have plans for Christmas Day._ "She can't," he told his mother hastily. "Remember, nobody must know Victoria is my child right now, not until after I get to Magnussen."

He could see the hurt look in Molly's eyes and stood to place a hand gently on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Molly. I can't risk it and Mycroft would certainly realise the truth if he saw Victoria. Look how fast Mummy guessed she was my child."

Molly sighed. "I understand." She turned to Sherlock's mother. "Perhaps you can come and visit us next time you come to London," she offered.

"Oh, that would be simply lovely," beamed the older woman.

"You've made my wife's day," noted William Holmes with a smile.

Victoria had been playing with a necklace around Violet Holmes's neck. "Pwetty," she announced.

"Grandma will buy you a necklace of your very own, next time we come to London," she promised, and Victoria clapped her hands.

The couple stayed for a little while longer, and Sherlock was pleased at the way his parents had taken to Molly, as well as how happy they seemed to be to have a grandchild, even if it had to remain a secret for now.

Later that night, Sherlock took charge of putting Victoria to bed while Molly took a shower. He turned from watching their daughter as she slept when Molly came in to the bedroom in her dressing gown, with damp hair and sweetly scented skin. She had no idea the effect she had on him, he thought, desperately wishing he could pull her into his arms and kiss her breathless.

"You can take your shower now," she told him softly and he nodded. "Should I make us a cup of tea?" He nodded again and went off to take his own shower.

He exited the bathroom in his dressing gown, clean shaven and ready for his cup of tea.

Molly was at the table sipping her own tea, and his cup was waiting for him at the other side of the table.

He sat down across from her and took a sip of the sweet liquid, peering at Molly over his cup. Her left hand was on the table twitching a little, and he sensed she was nervous. His thoughts were confirmed when she cleared her throat and began to speak.

"Sherlock, I saw the way you were with your parents today and I know it was a big step to admit the truth to them. It shows me even more than ever that you are sincere in your intentions towards me, and to our daughter as well."

"I am, Molly," he agreed simply, wondering where she was going with this.

Her fingers flexed on the table and she licked her lips. "You've been very patient with me over the last few days," she continued. He held his breath, waiting. "I don't know if I'm making the right decision or not, but right now all I do know is that I can't stay away from you or deny us the chance to be together any longer."

He let his breath out slowly, and asked, "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

She bit her lip, hesitating. He stood and walked over to her chair, reaching a hand out to her. "What do you need, Molly?" he questioned softly.

She took his hand and stood, looking up at him. "You, Sherlock. I need you." Her voice was a husky whisper and elation surged through him.

He pulled her close and lowered his lips to hers, kissing her slowly at first, then deepening the kiss as she surrendered to him, sliding her own arms around his waist.

The remaining tea in their cups forgotten, they kissed for some minutes, tasting, exploring, and Sherlock felt lightheaded with the desire he felt for her. This woman consumed him, enveloped his very soul when they were together.

Wordlessly, when their lips parted, they walked towards her bedroom hand-in-hand.

Sherlock's eyes immediately fell upon the silver foil packet on his pillow. The bed covers were turned down. She had obviously been getting things ready while he was in the shower, he thought. God, he loved her for that. His hands trembled slightly as he felt for the fastenings of her dressing gown, untying it, then sliding it away from her body. He caught his breath. She wasn't wearing anything underneath it. Her body was so perfect in its naturally unclothed state.

Molly's hands reached to untie his dressing gown as well, and he shrugged it off his shoulders, dispensing with his own boxers immediately afterwards, then lifted her onto the bed. He kissed her again fiercely, demandingly, feverishly, trailing his hands along her body, feeling once again the sweet womanly curves he could never get enough of and she responded satisfyingly with little sighs of pleasure.

He reached for the foil packet and ripped it open, hastily making use of its contents, then he lost himself in a world of utter bliss with the woman he adored. She completed him.

Once Sherlock was holding Molly in his arms in the contented afterglow that followed their union, he told her regretfully, "I really do need to get back to Baker Street soon. Christmas is only a few weeks away and I have plans to make."

"What plans?" questioned Molly, raising her head from his chest to look at him.

It was time to reveal what he had planned. He knew she would not be happy, but he couldn't keep her in the dark any longer. She deserved to know, even more so now that she had clearly showed her own devotion to him.

So, he began to speak.

* * *

 **Author's note:** This chapter contains a very intense conversation between Molly and Sherlock as she struggles to deal with her love for Sherlock as well as her faith. Please know, I am not advocating the decision she makes at the end. This is a story (and a dream), not real life. At the same time, it is a realistic struggle that Christians face, just as anyone else does who has to deal with the desire to be with someone and whether it is right or not.

I hope I portray the struggle realistically as well as the fact that Sherlock and Molly, despite their inability to admit their love for one another, are truly committed.

Anyway, what did you think about the whole scene with Sherlock's parents? I enjoyed bringing them into this story and I do truly think they would be delighted to be grandparents.

Sherlock is about to reveal his plans for Magnussen. How do you think Molly is going to react? As always, I look forward to hearing from you.


	20. The Merry-Go-Round Continues

As Molly lay in the arms of the man she loved, she thought about how things had changed for them again. It was such a relief that Sherlock was now almost fully recovered, and she couldn't deny how wonderful it felt, having him in her bed at night.

She still harboured a little anxiety about their one night of passion where they had not taken any measures to prevent pregnancy. She knew she wanted more children, but ideally, it would be better if it didn't happen while she and Sherlock were keeping their relationship a secret.

After that night, she had done a lot of soul searching about their relationship. She had appreciated Sherlock respecting her boundaries, and giving her time to think about what she wanted. There was a constant battle within herself between what she wanted and what she felt she should be doing.

Until this afternoon, she had still not made any firm decisions on whether she and Sherlock should resume their intimate relationship. In the end though, it had been the way he had shown her his commitment by revealing their relationship to his parents. She knew very well that Sherlock might not be the kind of man who would ever want any type of formal, legal commitment, yet she was confident he did not want to be with anyone but her.

Molly did understand why Sherlock was still reluctant to acknowledge Victoria as his child, and she believed it when he said Magnussen was dangerous. In fact she was still very surprised that Sherlock had been willing to tell his parents about his child. At least that was one less thing to worry about. She was delighted that the Holmes parents had taken the news so well. It would have been nice to spend Christmas with them.

Now she listened to Sherlock as he explained the kind of man Magnussen was, and how he planned to expose him on Christmas Day by offering him state secrets from Mycroft's laptop in exchange for some incriminating evidence. Sherlock didn't tell her how he planned to obtain the laptop. As she listened, a storm of anger began brewing within her that got worse the longer he spoke. For a genius, Sherlock could certainly make some very questionable decisions, but then, she'd seen him do that plenty of times, so why should she be surprised?

When he had finished speaking, she finally allowed the storm inside her to be unleashed in a tempestuous fury of speech as she pulled away from Sherlock's embrace.

"Why are you doing this, Sherlock? What you are planning is _treason_! I can't believe you'd go to such lengths for a case!"

"I have my reasons, good ones, Molly," he hedged, "please believe me."

"You don't even know Lady Smallwood very well. Is she so important you'd risk your future with Victoria, with me, just to catch this man?" she demanded, drawing further away from him. _How could he ruin things this way, when we've come so far. Will this merry-go-round ever stop?_ she wondered, gritting her teeth against the bile she could feel rising in her throat.

"There's more at stake than just Lady Smallwood," he defended. "There are other people to consider."

Her jaw clenched. "Who, Sherlock?"

He thrust a hand through his hair. Despite her anger, she couldn't help wondering how he managed to make her heart flutter every time he did that. "I...I can't tell you that."

He was keeping secrets from her _again_. Hurt replaced the anger she felt.

 _You do count. You've always counted and I've always trusted you._

She remembered the words from long ago. It seemed now he didn't trust her enough for full disclosure. First, he hadn't told her about taking drugs, and now he was intimating there was more than met the eye to this case that he couldn't reveal. She felt everything they had built together was in danger of collapse. They were dangling on a precipice formed by lies and half-truths, rather than the solid foundation of complete trust. "I thought I meant something to you. I thought Victoria did. Apparently this case trumps anything you might feel for us."

"That's not true, Molly. There are things you don't know, things that make it imperative I use any means necessary to put Magnussen behind bars," he told her and she heard the desperation in his tone.

"Then tell me what those things are," she entreated, just as desperately. "If you care about us at all, tell me!"

He closed his eyes briefly, expelling a breath through his nose before responding. "I can't. Please, Molly, try to understand."

Her lips thinned. Anger rose in her again at his refusal to be honest with her. "No, Sherlock," she countered in frustration. " _You_ try to understand. Being in a relationship means trusting your partner, not keeping secrets from them. If you can't trust me, despite your words about always trusting me, then you might as well go back to Baker Street now. I won't stand by and watch you destroy your life this way, possibly ruin your future over a damned case. Obviously your priorities are not the same as mine." Hot tears of anguish spilled down her cheeks.

She wanted so much for Sherlock to take her in his arms, for him to tell her she was his priority, and their child, but he didn't. Instead he looked at her sorrowfully and got out of bed.

He began to dress quietly and she turned her back on him, trying to hold in her sobs. How could things be going so well one moment, and the next be blown apart this way? How could she have ever thought she and Victoria meant more to Sherlock than his work? It was so obvious now that this was not the way things were. For Sherlock it would always be work first, relationships a distant second.

"I'm sorry," she heard Sherlock say, before leaving the bedroom. She heard the front door open and close and knew he was gone. Then she cried as if her heart was breaking, because that was exactly what was happening. Everything between them had been an illusion. She had lulled herself into a feeling of false contentment, sure that this time Sherlock really did care for her, perhaps even loved her as he loved their daughter. He had said he had long term plans for them. But she couldn't live that way, with uncertainty, knowing his work would always come first. Was it so wrong of her to want to be his first priority?

She was desperately afraid too of what he was planning to do on Christmas Day. She couldn't even mention her fears to Mary. Mary would certainly not approve of Sherlock dragging John into his scheme, and despite Molly's fear and anger, she could not be disloyal to the man she loved.

Molly spent a sleepless night, tossing and turning. She wondered whether she had been too harsh with Sherlock one moment, and the next she felt justified in her anger. Why couldn't he trust her enough to tell her what was going on properly? Giving her the bare bones of what he was planning to do didn't help her understand his reasons.

Undoubtedly, Sherlock had done some questionable things in his past, it was the nature of his profession. Although she had never asked him about what had happened during his time away while dismantling Moriarty's network, she was certain there would have been occasions where he had to work outside the law.

For all she knew, he may have had to kill people from Moriarty's network. Simply sending people to prison would most likely not have always been an option. But this was something she really didn't want to face or think about. It was part of Sherlock's past and none of her business. If he ever felt the need to share more about his time away, of course she would be willing to listen.

Sadly though, now it seemed the door had closed firmly on that anyway. She had not been able to change Sherlock's mind on what he planned to do and the future was uncertain.

The worst part of it was knowing that what he was planning was not something outside the country where Mycroft could rescue him. If this plan didn't work, he would undoubtedly spend the rest of his life in a prison cell. The thought of it horrified her. How would Victoria react to knowing her father had done something so terrible that he would never be able to spend time with her properly again.

 _Please God,_ she prayed silently, _keep him safe, whatever happens._ Her life was in a holding pattern once again.

In the morning, Molly got up for work and woke Victoria.

"Where's Daddy?" questioned her toddler, once she was seated in her highchair for breakfast. Molly had been dreading the question, knowing that Sherlock's constant presence over the past few weeks had given Victoria a feeling for the first time of what it would be like to have two parents around, to be part of a family.

"Daddy had to go back home," she explained gently and Victoria's lower lip trembled.

"Why?"

Molly hated seeing her daughter upset, and she wished things had not ended so badly, that Sherlock had been able to say goodbye before he headed back to Baker Street. "Daddy's better now and doesn't need Mummy to look after him anymore." She tried to placate her daughter, seeing the way her eyes had filled with tears. "Aren't you glad that Daddy is feeling better?"

A tear spilled down Victoria's cheek. "No," she said clearly. "Want Daddy home here."

Molly struggled to contain the threat of her own tears. The only thing worse than being miserable herself was seeing her daughter that way. Victoria didn't understand what was going on and there was no way for Molly to explain things either. She kissed her daughter's forehead. "I'm sorry darling, I'm sure Daddy will visit with you again when you are with Nanny Hudders, won't that be nice?" she asked, hoping that Victoria would be willing to take the small olive branch she was offering.

Fortunately, Victoria considered this for a moment, then nodded. She was an intelligent little girl, after all. "Okay, Mummy."

Molly called Mrs. Hudson to ask if she would be available to take care of Victoria once again, and the lady readily agreed, even if she seemed somewhat confused. There had been no reason to have her babysit Victoria while Sherlock had been staying with Molly, and the early morning call had been somewhat of a surprise.

When she dropped Victoria off with Mrs. Hudson, the elderly lady asked, "Did I hear Sherlock coming home last night or were my ears deceiving me? Is that why you want me to look after Victoria again?"

Molly gave her a pinched smile, as she set Victoria onto the floor. Victoria immediately climbed onto a chair and leaned over the table where there was a puzzle partially finished. Molly thought it was rather sweet that Mrs. Hudson had not cleaned up the puzzle pieces since the last time Victoria had been there, despite her weeks long absence. "Yes, he has recovered. He doesn't need me anymore." She couldn't help the slight note of hurt that crept into her voice.

Mrs. Hudson frowned. "Don't get me wrong, I have missed babysitting Victoria lately, but I must admit that I had hoped you and Sherlock would get used to the idea of being a family. That child would do much better if she had both of you around on a constant basis."

Molly bit her lip before answering, keeping her eyes fixed on Victoria, rather than the landlady. "You know Sherlock. His cases will always come first."

Mrs. Hudson pressed her lips together. "I suppose so. Will he be coming to see Victoria as he did before?"

Molly leaned over Victoria to give her a kiss goodbye. "I expect so. I'll see you after work."

"The usual time?"

Molly nodded as Victoria waved goodbye and said, "Bye, Mummy," before returning to her task.

Molly headed for the hospital. She was glad to have the distraction of work to keep her occupied once again. Over the next few days of working and picking up or dropping off Victoria at Baker Street, with no sign of Sherlock, every now and then she would wonder what he was doing. There was no sign of him at the hospital so apparently he was concentrating his efforts on the Magnussen case rather than anything Greg Lestrade might have for him. This in itself was a clear indication of the serious nature of the case.

Molly was also on tenterhooks, concerned about that one night she had spent with Sherlock when they hadn't used any protection. She had calculated the odds of pregnancy and was quite sure that it would have been too early in her cycle to conceive. Their last encounter, in which they had used protection, would likely have been a different story. Nevertheless, when Molly's period arrived, she breathed a6 sigh of relief. Even as she did so, she also felt a twinge of regret, that she tried to ignore.

Wondering if Sherlock too had been anxious about things, Molly decided she should at least let him know she was not pregnant. That would be one thing he didn't have to worry about.

So she sent him a text. _I'm not pregnant_."

His response was equally as brief.

 _Thanks for letting me know._

At least he hadnpt said something rude like "Thank God for that." Her heart ached though and a little part of her wondered what his reaction would have been if she _had_ been pregnant after all, but there was no point in her thinking of such things.

A few more days passed, and Mary invited her over one afternoon, so Molly headed to the Watsons' flat. John was working at the clinic that weekend so it was just the two women as usual and Victoria of course.

Molly had brought along some colouring books for Victoria, and some 24 piece jigsaw puzzles to occupy her, so the women were able to chat as they sat on the sofa and drank tea.

The women had not seen each other since before Sherlock had left Molly's flat, and Molly knew that Mary would be curious about the status of things. The last time they had spoken, Molly had been speaking in glowing terms of how well Sherlock was doing and what a wonderful father he was being to Victoria. Feeling unable to deal with the questions immediately, Molly decided to start the conversation.

"How are you and John doing? How are the baby preparations coming?" she asked her friend, as she took a sip from her cup.

"John is doing okay. We are having some issues right now, but I'm sure we will work things out." Molly was surprised to hear that. She wondered what kind of issues they could be having. Perhaps it was the whole adjusting-to-the-idea-of-parenthood thing. Her friend continued, "Thanks for the lovely baby clothes, by the way. I'm so excited we are having a girl, especially because you already have a girl. They can be playmates."

Molly was pleased about that too. With the way her last conversation with Sherlock had ended, things didn't look very good in terms of Victoria ever having any siblings to play with. She couldn't help the little sigh that escaped her lips.

Mary seemed to sense something was not quite right. She set down the cup she had been nursing in her hand and looked directly at Molly. "So, how are things with you and Sherlock, now that he has returned to Baker Street?" she questioned cautiously. "Last time we spoke about things you seemed very positive in the way your relationship was going,"

Molly glanced over at Victoria who was carefully assembling her _Frozen_ puzzle. She had watched the film on Blu-Ray with Molly one day and had loved the characters, especially Olaf. Her brow was furrowed in concentration and she reminded Molly of Sherlock when he was concentrating. Reluctantly, she turned her attention back to Mary who was patiently waiting for a response. "Things are going nowhere, I'm afraid," admitted Molly sadly. "I've come to realise his cases will always be more important than Victoria and I are. I haven't even caught sight of him since he left my flat and returned to Baker Street, not even when I have been leaving Victoria with Mrs. Hudson. And from what I hear, he hasn't even been visiting her." Molly blinked away tears of sadness and frustration that suddenly filled her eyes.

Mary rested a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Well that explains why he seemed so out of sorts when John and I saw him a couple days ago," was her surprising response. "He looked so miserable, Molly. I have to admit, I suspected you might be on the outs with the way he was behaving. He was really quite surly to John. Mind you, John just thought it was because he doesn't have any current cases."

Molly stared at her friend in confusion for a moment. She suddenly realised that Sherlock had obviously not told John his plans for Christmas Day. She wondered why he would be Keeping his friend in the dark about his plans, but she knew it wasn't her place to say anything. She supposed Sherlock wished to initiate his plan with Magnussen alone. He hadn't described how he was planning to get to that place, what was it called again? It had a funny name. Oh yes, it sounded like apple core, _Appledore_. Sherlock had just told her that arrangements had been made for him to go there on Christmas Day and she had assumed he was going there with John.

Molly sighed and focussed on what Mary had been saying. "It's so hard, Mary. Sherlock is the most important person in the world to me aside from our daughter, and Victoria absolutely adores him, but I can't be with a man whose life is dedicated to his work more than his family."

Mary squeezed her shoulder sympathetically. "I understand what you are saying, but I'm sure he loves you in his own way."

"I thought so too, for awhile," Molly admitted, then she looked down into her almost empty cup of tea and took a last swallow, before placing it on the table in front of her. "He has never said it though, and his recent actions prove otherwise."

"You're saying he _does_ have a case that is occupying his time?" questioned Mary, her brow creased.

Molly nodded. "it's still the Magnussen one."

"Oh." Mary was silent for a moment, then picked up her own tea cup again and drained the contents before asking gently, "How about you, Molly? Does he know you love him?"

Molly shook her head. "No. I cam't open myself up to that hurt, Mary, if he doesn't feel the same. If things ever are to work out for us, he is going to have to say it first."

Mary stood then and collected the tea cups, saying, "Oh, Molly, I feel for you. Sherlock is certainly a complex man, but he is a fiercely loyal and devoted friend too, from what I can gather in the months I've known him, and from what John has told me. John told me the whole story of how Sherlock jumped from the roof of St. Bart's to protect his friends, and that you helped Sherlock fake his death. Once John understood the reasons why Sherlock did that in the first place, he truly realised that Sherlock will do anything to protect his friends. That includes you and your daughter."

She walked over to the sink, casting an admiring glance at the puzzle Victoria had almost completed even as she added to Molly, "I'm sure you will work things out eventually. I believe the two of you are meant to be together."

Molly rose from the sofa and walked over to Victoria, kissing the top of her head and saying, "Wonderful job, sweetheart!"

Victoria beamed at her mother and concentrated on putting the last pieces of the puzzle together as Molly thought about Mary's words and responded. "There was a time when I believed that, now I'm not so sure." Then she asked curiously, "Why do you think we are meant to be together?"

Mary gave her a look of surprise. "Molly, it's so obvious. The two of you balance one another perfectly. You're both very intelligent and you work very well together. I've never seen Sherlock talk about you in any way but as someone whose opinion he values, unlike John." She smirked a little at her own words. "He even took those slaps from you after that drug test without protest because he obviously felt guilty about what he had done." She paused for a moment to look over at Victoria, who was inserting the final puzzle piece. "He also clearly adores his daughter, just as you said. When I saw you that day in the hospital, I could see the softness in his expression when he looked at her. He has that same expression when he looks at you."

"You think so?" Molly questioned hopefully.

"I know so," said Mary confidently and a tiny spark of hope flared within Molly once again. Perhaps they could work things out, after all.

That night, back at home, Molly thought again about Mary's words. She certainly hoped they were true. She felt though as if she and Sherlock were a prime example of eternally star-crossed lovers.

Before she went to sleep, Molly made a decision. If Sherlock did not contact her or see his daughter again before Christmas, she was going to take Victoria to see her daddy before he went off on this God-only-knew-how-dangerous quest to catch Magnussen in his trap. That decided, she slept more peacefully than she had done since the night before Sherlock had returned to Baker Street.

* * *

 **Author's note:** What is it about these two? Can't they ever get it together? Do you think Molly was justified in getting angry with Sherlock or should she have been more understanding?

Did you enjoy the Mary conversation and more Victoria time? This is another chapter I am splitting, and by way of that, added more Victoria time because it's fun to add in the family aspect of the story. So the next chapter will still be Molly's POV.

Were you surprised that Molly is not pregnant? Are you disappointed? As usual, I look forward to your responses!

If you enjoy reading my stories, please help me increase my readership by your follows, favourites and reviews. A lot of people base their reading choices on whether they feel a story gets an enthusiastic response and by checking out the favourites lists of fellow readers. Your support in this would meant a lot to me.


	21. Questions and Answers

During the final days before Christmas, Molly set up a little Christmas tree and Victoria helped her place ornaments on it, including one with her own name. There were two other name ornaments, with Sherlock's and Molly's own name as well. Molly had purchased the ornaments when Sherlock had been staying with her, in the hopes that he might agree to hang his own ornament, to show Victoria he was proud of being her father. She contemplated whether she should even put the ornament on the tree, with things between them being so troubled, but finally decided To put his ornament on the tree, albeit at the back part of it where it would not be visible to any visitors, not that she ever had those anyway.

Victoria coloured some Christmas pictures to give as gifts to Mrs. Hudson and her father as well. By this time she was starting to ask daily, "Where's Daddy?"

Finally, on the day before Christmas, when Molly went over to Baker Street after work to collect Victoria, she had had enough. It was time for Sherlock to at least see his daughter before Christmas. The pages Victoria had coloured had been in the changing bag, and she had handed one to Mrs. Hudson that morning who had accepted it with delight and put it immediately on her fridge. Now, Mrs. Hudson informed her that Sherlock was home, although he had still not seen his daughter. Molly took Victoria by one hand, her other holding the carefully coloured sheet for Sherlock and went upstairs to 221B, knocking insistently at the door. _How could he just ignore his child for almost a month?_ she wondered as she waited impatiently for him to answer the door.

Sherlock finally opened it and he looked very surprised. Victoria immediately tugged at his leg, "Up, Daddy."

He lifted her into his arms and kissed her cheek, then looked at Molly. "Well, this is an unexpected surprise. It's...good to see you." Molly could see that Sherlock was not looking well. He had obviously been burning the midnight oil. His face looked drawn and he appeared to have lost weight. _Probably because I haven't been feeding him,_ she thought silently to herself.

"I thought you might like to see your daughter. She has been missing you. She also wanted to give you a Christmas present." She thrust the coloured page at Sherlock who took it with his free hand. She had intended to sound cold, aloof, but instead her voice trembled slightly. She'd missed him so much and it hurt that he hadn't even made an attempt to speak with her or Victoria since that night, that he hadn't decided he could confide in her.

He looked at the page and spoke to Victoria. "Thank you, sweetheart, this is beautiful. I'll have to put it somewhere special." Molly knew quite well he wouldn't be able to openly display a picture from her daughter, it might arouse suspicion, but she hoped he would at least place it somewhere where he could look at it.

Sherlock walked with Victoria and set her picture on the desk, then set her down gently. He retrieved Billy the skull and showed it to his daughter.

"Victoria, meet Billy. He is my pet skull and sometimes I talk to him. Would you like to look at him?"

Victoria reached for the skull, taking him from Sherlock's fingers. She was fascinated by the object, which Molly hoped was clean. Then Sherlock turned his gaze on Molly, who had ventured a few paces further into the flat.

"So, why have you not bothered to see our daughter for a month?" demanded Molly, keeping her voice low.

Sherlock's brow furrowed. "I thought you didn't want me to see her. At least, that was how I perceived things to be, before I left your flat," he informed her flatly, keeping his voice also low.

Molly stared at him. "What the hell are you talking about? For a detective who prides himself on his keen observation skills, you sure know how to miss the boat. Why on earth would I ever want you to not see your child? How could you think I would be so selfish?"

He narrowed his eyes at that. "Well, aren't you and Victoria a package deal? If I can't have you, I can't have Victoria," he stated.

She swallowed, casting a quick glance over at Victoria who was sticking her fingers into the empty eye sockets of the skull. She was going to have to remember to clean Victoria's hands thoroughly. She walked closer to Sherlock and looked up at him. "Oh my God, you are such a drama queen, Sherlock!" she exclaimed hotly, trying to hide the fact that she wanted very much for him to still have both her _and_ Victoria. "Once and for all, let me make this clear. Whatever is, or isn't between us, you are Victoria's father. I would _never_ say you can't see her. She loves you."

He turned and bent down to stroke Victoria's hair. "I love her too."

His voice was sincere as the toddler looked up from the skull and smiled. "Love you too, Daddy."

Molly's own lips curved upwards slightly. It was so ironic at how easily the words fell from his lips when referring to his daughter.

Sherlock raised his head to look at Molly. "Well, it is rather fortuitous you have arrived at this time. I was actually trying to decide when I might speak with you again, to perhaps settle some things. Do you have time for us to talk now?" His expression was an almost pleading one which surprised her.

She hesitated. "I'm not sure what we have to talk about, Sherlock." _Please tell me you are ready to share your secrets with me,_ she thought silently.

"Please, Molly. I'll tell you more about what is going on tomorrow," he offered. "Will you let me explain?"

A wave of relief washed over her. His honesty was what she had been asking for, and if he wished to finally reveal what he had been keeping hidden, she wasn't going to deny him or herself that. "Alright then, but what do we do about Victoria?"

"I want Daddy," announced the toddler petulantly, turning her head in Molly's direction and frowning.

Sherlock stroked his daughter's hair again. "Daddy has a Christmas present for you. I'll give it to you early if you go and stay a bit longer with Nanny Hudders."

"Chwistmas pwesent?" Victoria asked excitedly, the skull completely forgotten, and falling the few inches, fortunately safely, from her fingers to the floor and Molly almost laughed out loud. Now that Victoria was two, she was very excited at the thought of Christmas. Decorating the tree had made everything more real for her, although Molly had also tried to explain that they would be celebrating the birth of Jesus on that day. Of course, Victoria was a little young to understand the real significance of Christmas. Presents was what it was all about, in the toddler's eyes.

"Yes, you go downstairs with Mummy and I'll bring it down." To Molly he said, "Okay? If Mrs. Hudson doesn't mind looking after her awhile longer?" He stood and clasped his hands behind his back expectantly.

"Fine," Molly agreed, before heading back downstairs, holding Victoria's hand.

Fortunately Mrs. Hudson was happy to accommodate her request. "Of course I can look after her while you and Sherlock talk. I've been wondering what has benne going on with you two, and the way Sherlock has been avoiding Victoria. She needs her daddy. I hope you can resolve your issues. I'll feed Victoria some dinner too," she offered graciously.

"Thank you," Molly said gratefully as Sherlock entered the flat through the still open door.

"I was going to leave this for Mrs. Hudson to give her," he explained, holding out a large wrapped package. It was obvious Sherlock was a complete novice when it came to wrapping presents. Multiple pieces of sticky tape adorned the poorly wrapped gift, but she appreciated that he had made an effort.

Victoria grabbed the package eagerly. "Daddy, help!" she demanded, and he clumsily assisted her to open the present, trying to carefully remove the multiple pieces of sticky tape without tearing the paper.

"Just rip it already," Molly told him, with a smirk. He was obviously as unused to unwrapping gifts as he was at wrapping them.

Finally the present was opened to reveal a miniature lab set, complete with plastic goggles and fake test tubes and beakers. Victoria looked at it with wide eyes, not quite comprehending what it was, but excited nonetheless.

Molly looked at Sherlock with an eyebrow raised. "Don't you think she is a bit young for that? The package says ages 3 and up."

"She's almost two and a half and she has very intelligent parents. It's never too early for her to learn about experiments," Sherlock said loftily with a shrug.

Victoria was fascinated by her present. "Wanna play with it," she said, trying to find where to open the box.

"I'll help you get all the pieces out and then we'll have some dinner," Mrs. Hudson said, nodding at Sherlock and Molly that they should leave.

"We'll see you soon, sweet pea," said Sherlock as Molly kissed her daughter's forehead and the couple walked back upstairs.

"Thank you, Sherlock, for thinking of her," Molly said as they entered 221B.

"Just because I thought you didn't want me to see our daughter doesn't mean I wanted her to think I didn't care. Victoria deserves to have a nice Christmas even if I can't be there for her," he told her in a slightly offended tone.

"Thought you didn't believe in Christmas," Molly teased, trying to lighten the sombre tone of their conversation.

Sherlock shrugged. "I suppose I am starting to re-evaluate things a little. Dying on an operating table can do that to you."

Molly was surprised and delighted to hear him say that. "I'm glad to hear it," she said, and impulsively she squeezed his hand. "So, are you ready to tell me more about what is going on?" she pressed.

He didn't allow her to release his hand, instead clasped it securely and pulled her towards the sofa. Once they were seated, he said, "I still can't tell you exactly what is going on, but I will tell you it is about more than Lady Smallwood. I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier, but I had to consider the ramifications. I asked the person in question whether I could reveal something to you, and I was granted permission but until you turned up today, I didn't know how to approach you, and had decided to wait until after Christmas," he explained, looking seriously into Molly's eyes. "There is someone else who Magnussen has blackmail information about, and it is someone we both know and care about."

"You mean John has some skeletons in his closet?" quipped Molly.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "John is an open book. No, it's Mary. She has a past that I cannot talk about."

She stared at him in shock. "Mary? I don't believe it."

"Believe it. She and John are having some issues as a result of that past. It was important enough that she felt it necessary to shoot me to protect her secret. If I hadn't arrived at Magnussen's office when I did, he would have been her target."

Molly gasped and she felt light-headed. Mary, her _friend_ , had been the one to shoot Sherlock? Suddenly anger burned within her. "How could she have done such a horrible thing to you?" she asked in a low, intense voice filled with anger, feeling her cheeks burn with the force of her emotions. Mary knew how she felt about Sherlock, knew he had a daughter. Then she realised that Mary had not known those things at the time, and her anger abated somewhat, although she could feel her hand trembling in Sherlock's.

He stroked her hand with his thumb. "Mary did not wish to shoot me fatally. She is an expert shot, believe me." There was a twist to his lips as he said the words.

"But why?" Her voice trembled and she felt that betraying lump in her throat that meant she was close to tears. The Bible was very clear in saying she should be quick to forgive, but this was such a devastating blow. Mary could not have guaranteed Sherlock's survival, and he had, in fact, died on the operating table. She spoke the words aloud. "It is only by the grace of God that you survived, Sherlock. She nearly killed you."

Sherlock's voice was gentle. "She also called the ambulance that saved my life, before John found me. Those minutes were the difference between my life and death."

Molly took a shuddering breath. "You haven't answered my question. Why did she shoot you?" Something came back to her at that moment. Sherlock had told Mary at the hospital, _"You know Magnussen,"_ and had seemed to assume Mary knew the type of man he was. "Oh, my gosh, Sherlock, she was already being blackmailed about her past by him, wasn't she?" she enquired, feeling sure of the answer.

Sherlock cast her an admiring glance. "As a matter of fact, she was. I can tell you now that the day I left the hospital, when I made this Christmas assignation with Magnussen," here, Molly cringed, 'assignation' was a bit of an understatement, "I also confronted Mary and forced her to reveal the truth to John. Then I told her I'd take her case and she told John and myself about her past when we got back to Baker Street."

Molly pursed her lips. "And nearly killed yourself again in your eagerness to discover the truth."

He flushed slightly. "Not one of my best ideas, I admit. I'm sorry I didn't tell you before. However, I could not betray Mary's confidence. Last time Mary and spoke, I asked her permission to reveal this to you and she said she trusted me to make sure it went no further than you. She also said she had spoken with you and that she felt we needed to talk," he explained, then added, "but I didn't want to just turn up at your doorstep." He looked at her searchingly, obviously willing her to understand.

Molly curled her free hand into a fist in her lap. Were it not for Sherlock still holding her other hand, that one would have also formed into a fist.. "You've forgiven Mary for what she did to you, but this, well, it is going to take some time for me to process."

"I understand, Molly. I know what kind of woman you are, and I believe you will forgive her soon as well. It isn't in your nature to hold a grudge."

Molly's lips twisted slightly. "I'll try. But, Sherlock, are you sure you still have to go through with this plan of yours tomorrow?"

Sherlock sighed. He rested his other hand over the clenched fist in her lap. "Please believe me, this plan with Magnussen is something I have to do. If Mary's past is exposed it will ruin her, and probably end up causing more problems between her and John. They have a baby on the way. I want them to be able to raise it in peace without fear."

It all made sense now. Molly felt she understood where Sherlock was coming from. She was no longer angry with him, even if she still believed he was placing himself at great risk. He had always assigned great value to his friends.

Molly's hands trembled slightly, despite her resolve to stay calm. "I know what you are saying, but I still feel you are pursuing something incredibly dangerous here and that you are putting your future on the line. What if something bad happens to you? How do you think Victoria will deal with it?" _How will I deal with it?_ she added silently to herself.

His thumbs stroked the backs of her hands gently. "Nothing bad is going to happen, Molly. I know Magnussen has those files. I just need to get at them, expose him for the blackmailer he is." He sounded confident, and Molly desperately wanted to believe him. Hadn't he always been successful in his schemes? He'd survived jumping off the roof of St. Bart's, after all.

"And then what?" she questioned. Brown eyes met his turquoise ones.

He looked at her steadily. "That is entirely up to you, Molly. You were the one who asked me to leave you last month. I did so at your request. Maybe you are the one who doesn't really want a relationship with me anymore. If that's the case, I wouldn't blame you."

Molly felt tears prick her eyes. "Sherlock, you have to know I still want to be with you. But I also want a normal relationship, one where we are not in this constant push and pull situation. We keep hurting each other, and our daughter is the one suffering because she doesn't understand why one minute her parents are together, the next, they are apart."

He sighed. "I don't want to hurt you or Victoria, Molly. It seems like that's all I've been doing, though. I want what's best for both of you. I...I care about you, very much. I don't know how I can make it more clear."

 _Say you love me, Sherlock. Say you want us to be a family, your family._ She knew she couldn't say the words herself though either, in case she was deluding herself about the depth of his feelings. Perhaps this was as close as Sherlock could get to loving her, having a deep, abiding affection. "I don't doubt that you care. I guess I'm just scared of losing you," she told him honestly. "I'm terrified for what you are planning because if it all goes wrong, it won't matter whether we want to be together or not, you'll be in jail, and Victoria and I will be alone again."

Sherlock raised a hand to wipe away a tear that had slid down her cheek. "I'm not going to jail, Molly. Remember, once Mycroft's people find the files, everything I've done will be justified and forgiven." He looked so sincere, so sure of himself. "Trust me," he whispered, raising his other hand to her face and then he bent his head towards hers and kissed her.

Everything fell away, all her fears about the next day, all the hurt from the past month. She just knew this was the man she loved, the man she needed.

Her heart pounded in her chest as he continued to kiss her, moving his hands to slide beneath her blouse and jumper. He was reaching to unclasp her bra and she didn't resist. _What if this is our last chance to be together?_ she thought desperately, her own fingers working at his buttons.

"I missed you so much, sweetheart," he groaned in between kisses, and she responded, lifting her arms so he could remove the constricting garments and throw her bra to the floor.

Then his hands were caressing her breasts before his mouth moved to do the same and she whimpered, feeling that surge of heat rising within her as it always did. She tried to pull his shirt away and feel his chest, but he ended up shrugging out of it himself. Then her fingers moved to his trousers and he stopped her. "Not here."

She barely registered it as he lifted her into his arms while she wrapped her arms around his neck and legs around his waist before he carried her off to the bedroom.

The month of separation served as fuel for the fire that had erupted within them. Their movements were swift as they removed the rest of their clothes in their hurry to be together again. "I missed you so much, baby," he murmured and Molly thrilled at the caressing note in his voice. _He said he missed me twice, and he called me sweetheart and baby,_ she thought in amazement and delight.

Sherlock lavished her with kisses and touches everywhere until she was whimpering with need for him and at last their union was complete. Despite their haste, it was still an incredibly satisfying feeling, being together again, sharing their intimacy with each other. They were two people, yet they were one with each other.

As they lay together afterwards, waiting for their breathing to return to normal, Molly noticed something that gave her hope again for their future. The pictures from so long ago that had been in Sherlock's wallet were now in a photo frame, sitting on his bedside table along with another picture of Victoria, apparently taken in Mrs. Hudson's flat. Perhaps he did love her after all, but was unable to express the sentiment.

 _After this Magnussen case is over, it's time for me to ask him what he truly wants from Victoria and me, whether he wants us to be a family or not,_ she decided silently.

But for now, she could wait.

* * *

 **Author's note:** I have to say thanks to **comp1mom** here for a comment she made in a review about how interesting it would be to see Molly's reaction if she found out Mary shot Sherlock. I had not originally written the story to have Sherlock reveal that, but decided this was the right chapter to do that, to show that Sherlock trusts Molly. Of course, he had to get permission first from Mary to reveal the truth.

I know, these two can't stay away from each other long, no matter how hard they try. As usual, I wanted to make sure there was a little parentlock in the mix (thanks to reader **parentlock** who is a big fan obviously of that haha), so I keep adding more Victoria.

By the way, the Christmas ornaments are a nod to my _First Christmas - Take Two_ one-shot from my "real" universe for them where Molly gives Sherlock a gift of ornaments with their names on them. If you haven't read it, take a look and I'd love to hear what you think of that one too :)

What will happen next? Go on, make a guess!


	22. Long Term Plans

**Author's note:** I'm giving this chapter a hard T rating. As usual, there's nothing graphic, but just a warning for my more sensitive readers about the love scene.

* * *

It was heaven having Molly back in his arms, Sherlock thought, as they lay in his bed together. The heartache he had suffered over the past month was forgotten. He had stayed away from his daughter, certain that Molly didn't want him to have any part of his daughter's life anymore. He'd been an idiot. He had been so tempted to return to using drugs too, but he had decided to frame the photos of Molly and himself, and one of Victoria, so that every time he felt weak, he could look at them and remind himself to stay clean for their sake, even if he was no longer a part of their lives.

His heart had leapt when he had answered the door earlier to Molly and their child. Thank God she had come to him. He'd been desperately thinking of how he might contact her, in light of the fact that Mary had given him the go-ahead to share that one of the reasons he was so determined to get at Magnussen was because of her, to protect her. Of course, Mary had no idea of the method he intended to employ in order to do that. So Molly's arrival had certainly been timely.

The last time they had texted was when she had told him she wasn't pregnant. That had been, what, about two weeks ago? Strange how the news had been rather bittersweet. If she had been pregnant, he was convinced she would have come to him earlier. Now, with a sense of unreality he realised he'd done it again. He'd made love to her without even thinking of the possible consequences.

She was smiling dreamily at him and he swallowed, hating to have to confess his idiocy once again. She obviously sensed the way his body had suddenly tensed, because she placed her hand on his chest lightly and asked, "Sherlock?"

He curled his own hand around hers. "Oh, God, Molly, I'm so sorry. Why does this keep happening? Why do you make me lose myself in you and forget to use protection?"

To his surprise, she didn't react badly as he had expected. Instead, she just heaved a sigh. "It is what it is, Sherlock. I'm tired of second-guessing everything we do. If I get pregnant, that's because it was meant to happen. I'm done caring what others think. If that makes me the worst sort of person, so be it. Besides, I didn't get pregnant last month, so apparently I'm not the queen of fertility after all."

"Are you sorry?" he questioned, hearing an odd note in her voice. His right arm had been holding her close and now he squeezed her shoulder.

She looked up at him. "Sorry about what? I'm not sorry we made love again, if that's what you're asking, because it isn't as if I'm going around giving my body to anyone else."

He smirked at that. "I should certainly hope not." Then he sobered and added, "No, I mean, are you sorry you aren't pregnant?" He couldn't help hoping she would answer in the affirmative and was not disappointed.

"Perhaps a little. When I found out I wasn't pregnant after all, I guess I had mixed feelings about it. I'm not getting any younger, you know."

"I'm nearly forty as well," he said, as his lips quirked. He had to tell her that he wouldn't be upset either if she got pregnant again. Molly, I-"

He was interrupted by the sound of a knock at the front door, then Mrs. Hudson opening it and calling, "Hoo hoo, Sherlock, Molly, what's taking you so...oh!"

Sherlock groaned. Apparently she had seen their discarded clothes on the floor in the sitting room.

A second later there was the pitter patter of little running feet coming towards the bedroom. "Daddy? Mummy? Where are you?"

Sherlock thanked the God he might possibly believe in, that he had automatically kicked the bedroom door shut after carrying Molly into his room. Hastily, he scrambled out of bed and pulled on his boxers. "I'll be right there, sweet pea," he called through the door. "Mummy is just...uh...having a nap. She was very sleepy."

He heard Mrs. Hudson's voice from a bit further away, "I'll just bet she was."

He hurriedly went to the wardrobe and selected his dark red dressing gown, putting it on and exiting the bedroom, then closing the door behind him.

Victoria was standing just outside the bedroom and she looked at him in confusion. "Daddy sleepy too?"

"Uh, yes, Daddy was just having a little nap as well."

He reached down and took his daughter's hand, then walked towards the sitting room, where Mrs. Hudson was standing with her hands on her hips. She glanced from the discarded clothes to him and remarked dryly, "I'm assuming you two reconciled your differences?"

Sherlock flushed. "Uh, you could say that."

"Well, I fed Victoria her dinner, then she insisted on coming upstairs. She was getting a bit worried you know, because her parents were gone for so long."

Sherlock picked Victoria up in his arms and swung her around, making her squeal with glee. "I'm sorry, little one. Like I said, Mummy was very sleepy, and Daddy was as well. I didn't mean to worry you."

"It's okay Daddy." She patted his cheek and then tugged on one of his curls as she liked to do.

Molly came into the sitting room then, wearing Sherlock's tartan dressing gown and Sherlock remembered his blue one was still at Molly's flat. He realised that of course she could not have dressed properly when half her clothes were on the floor in front of the sofa.

"Mummy, wanna go home now," said Victoria plaintively, looking over at Molly. "Bwing Daddy."

Mrs. Hudson chuckled. "From the mouths of babes."

"Sweetheart, Daddy can't come with us. He doesn't live with us," explained Molly gently. "This is his home."

Victoria pouted. "But _Chwistmas_ , Mummy."

Sherlock gently disengaged his daughter's hand from the curl she had been tugging on and set her down. "Daddy has to work tomorrow. I'm sorry, sweet pea."

"But why?" demanded the toddler, and she gave Sherlock a highly disappointed stare that made Sherlock think of what Molly looked like when she was cross with him. She was so much like her mother, he thought with an inward smile.

"Daddy has to catch a very bad man," Sherlock told her solemnly.

"A very bad man," agreed Molly, reaching for her daughter, who shook her head and moved closer to her father.

Mrs. Hudson remarked, "Your daddy is very good at catching bad men." She then added, "Well, I'll leave you to it. Merry Christmas."

"Thank you for watching Victoria, Mrs. Hudson, Merry Christmas too," said Sherlock.

"Yes, thank you, and we'll see you tomorrow," replied Molly and the elderly woman headed back downstairs.

Victoria was still looking rather upset, so Sherlock bent down on his haunches and looked her in the eye. "Would you like Daddy to play you some Christmas carols on his violin?"

"Yes!," the child said immediately, clapping her hands.

Sherlock went to his violin case in the corner and pulled out his Stradivarius and bow, then began to play.

He played several Christmas carols, as he watched Molly surreptitiously grab her discarded clothing and leave the room while Victoria was distracted by his playing. She was back a few minutes later, fully dressed.

Molly and Victoria clapped as he finished the last tune with a flourish, then returned the violin with the bow to its case.

"We should probably get going," Molly said, with a note of reluctance in her voice.

He didn't want her to leave - not yet. "You haven't eaten anything for dinner," he pointed out.

Molly looked at him and tilted her head slightly. "You don't have anything to eat in this place do you?"

He considered for a moment. Why couldn't he spend more time with the woman he loved and their daughter? His plans for tomorrow were already set, after all. If he was alone he would just spend the night brooding and unable to sleep anyway. "I guess I could come back to your place after all, just for a while?" he suggested. He could certainly use the distraction.

Victoria, of course, jumped at the idea, saying enthusiastically, "Yes, Mummy. Daddy come home." She beamed at her parents, apparently thinking she had single-handedly convinced her father to come home with them.

"I guess I'm outnumbered," Molly said, smiling slightly. "You had better put on some more clothes first, though," she told Sherlock, gesturing at his dressing gown.

Oh yeah, he had forgotten about that. Scooping up his own clothes discarded from earlier, he called over his shoulder as he went towards his bedroom, "I'll be right back."

Soon afterwards, they took a taxi to Molly's flat, Victoria sitting in between them, holding their hands. When they got there and Sherlock entered behind Molly, he immediately saw the little Christmas tree in the corner of her sitting room area. His Christmas present for Victoria was still at Baker Street, so she would have something else to play with when she was there.

"I'll fix us something to eat," Molly said immediately, while Sherlock walked over to the Christmas tree, curious to look at it more closely. He saw the ornament with Victoria's name inscribed on it and one with Molly's.

"Daddy," said Victoria, tugging at his hand. He looked at her and she pointed to the back of the tree. "Daddy," she said again.

Sherlock glanced at Molly who was busy extracting various ingredients from the fridge and ventured closer to the tree, to see what Victoria was pointing at. He was surprised when he spotted a single ornament hidden at the rear of the tree. He reached out and took hold of it, then read the lettering. _Sherlock_. His breath caught. Apparently Molly had still been thinking of him over the past month, and he couldn't help feeling a surge of elation.

He found a jigsaw puzzle and began to assemble it with his daughter. He was amazed at how skilled she was at putting the pieces together.

Before long, Molly had prepared a simple meal for them. He hadn't realised how hungry he was until he ate. He was reminded once again of how well she cooked and how she had looked after him for the weeks he had been staying with her. He'd missed that, and her, so much. He really hadn't been looking after himself very well for the past month, only eating when his stomach complained loudly at the lack of food, and grabbing take-away here or there to deal with it. More often than not, he had survived for the most part on coffee, tea and the occasional scone from a concerned Mrs. Hudson.

By the time they had finished eating, it was apparent that their toddler was beginning to tire. She was colouring, and her head kept drooping in her high chair where Sherlock had placed her before eating, providing her with the colouring book and crayons he'd seen on the coffee table.

Molly picked up Victoria from the high chair. "Come on, sweetheart. You had better go to the toilet and get to bed."

Sherlock still couldn't get over the fact that his daughter was already potty trained. It had definitely made things easier when he had been looking after her during his recuperation while Molly was at work.

Once Victoria had been tucked into bed and kissed goodnight by her parents, Molly pulled the door to her room almost closed and Sherlock said, "I suppose I should think about going. Mycroft is sending the car to pick me up at nine and then we are getting John and Mary. I also have Billy Wiggins coming along."

Molly's brows drew together. "Wiggins? That guy who was there the day I gave you the drug test that you failed?"

He flushed at the memory of her reaction that day, and those stinging slaps. "Yeah, he is going to help me tomorrow."

Molly suddenly clutched convulsively at his arm. "Please be careful, let me know what is happening. Will you text me once you are in Sussex?"

Sherlock nodded. "I can do that. What are you doing tomorrow?"

"Spending the day with Mrs. Hudson." She sighed. "She is staying here instead of visiting her sister especially for Victoria and me. I thank God for her, that she has always been there for me when I haven't had anyone else to be with."

"Next year you will," he told her positively, confidently, looking intently into her deep brown eyes.

She gave a short huff of laughter. "You're thinking a year ahead now?"

"Molly, I've told you many times I have long term plans with you - as long as you let me have them." Then he added, a bit cheekily, not really sure how she'd respond. "I also have very short term plans that could include staying here for awhile longer, if you weren't averse to the idea."

She looked up at him through her eyelashes and his breath hitched. "Stay," she said, then lifted her lips to invite his kiss as her hands crept around his waist.

Placing his hands on either side of her face, he kissed her slowly, moving his body sensuously against hers, feeling that ache to be with her again.

This time, she took him by the hand and led him to her bedroom.

On this occasion there was no haste, and they made love slowly, savouring the taste and feel of each other's bodies, experimenting with new ways of being together. He quite enjoyed it when Molly took the lead for once, looking down at him with heavy-lidded eyes that enthralled him until finally he couldn't take it anymore and he had to reassert control, until they were both satiated and holding each other afterwards.

He stayed with her and slept for a few hours until his internal alarm clock woke him in the early hours of the morning. He felt sorry that he had to get up to leave. He could have stayed in bed with Molly forever, holding her warm body against his, smelling the sweet scent of her hair as well as their combined bodily scents that were always something he found intoxicating as well.

"I wish I didn't have to go," he told Molly, who had awakened when he had moved to disengage himself from their embrace and had made a sound of protest. He gave her one last lingering kiss. "I'll text you from Sussex, keep you updated, okay?"

"You had better, Sherlock, if you know what's good for you," she told him, only half jokingly.

"I will. I'll let you go back to sleep now, sweetheart."

Before she could say anything about the endearment which had accidentally slipped out again, he made an exclamation. "Oh, I almost forgot! I have something for you first."

He climbed out of the bed and got dressed. He left the room and returned shortly afterwards with a wrapped present, turning on the bedroom light. He had placed the gift in his coat pocket a week earlier, when he had been trying to decide how he could approach her. It had been intended as a peace offering, but now he realised it worked out perfectly to be a Christmas present. He would have preferred it to be the ring he wanted to use to propose, but this was obviously not the time.

"Go on, open it," he told her, after handing it to her. "It's a Christmas present for you."

Molly sat up in the bed and he couldn't help casting a lingering look at those sweet curves he had caressed a few hours earlier. Noticing his appreciative gaze, she blushed and pulled the duvet so it covered her chest, which almost made him laugh at her modesty. "I...I didn't get you anything. I didn't expect anything from you either with the way things have been between us."

He shrugged. "I don't care. I just wanted you to have this. Hurry up, I need to get going so I can at least pretend I've been sleeping in my own bed all night at Baker Street rather than yours." He gave her a lopsided grin and she chuckled, as he had hoped she would.

"Okay." She tore off the wrapping. He'd wrapped this with a bit more care than the one he had presented to their daughter. Of course, it was a much smaller package.

He watched a little nervously as she opened the lid of the small jewellery box. It was a gold, heart shaped locket on a necklace inside the box.

"Open the locket," he urged and she did so, opening it to reveal a picture on one side of Victoria that he had taken at Mrs. Hudson's flat one day, and a selfie of himself, with a big grin. He had painstakingly reduced the size of the photos, then printed them out himself at Baker Street. The quality was not the best, but it was still the best he could do on short notice.

He was rewarded with a lovely smile from Molly as she blinked back tears. "Thank you, Sherlock. I love it! I'll cherish it."

"I'm glad. Maybe one day we can put another picture in there, replace the one of me with something better." He smiled at her.

"The picture of Victoria, you have one just like it on your bedside table," she said and his lips curved upwards.

"Very observant of you. I suppose you also noticed that I have put those pictures of us into a frame as well?" he questioned.

"I noticed." She gestured at her own bedside table. "My photos are still there too, Sherlock."

A surge of happiness swelled through him. She did care about him, deeply. He was certain of it.

He smiled at the woman he loved. "Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper," he said, echoing those long ago words. But it was no kiss on the cheek this time. This time the kiss he gave her was long, lingering and passionate, before he reluctantly broke away. "Give Victoria extra hugs for me, okay?"

"Okay," she whispered, and he left, this time not because she was telling him to do so, but because he had a mission to complete before he could come back to her. He fully intended to replace that picture of himself in the locket with either one of them, or maybe one of their next child.

Even as he took a taxi back to Baker Street, he couldn't help hoping that maybe tonight they had conceived a child. They had done nothing to prevent it at her place either, and for the first time he felt ready for the next step in his life, to be there at the beginning of a pregnancy rather than miss it completely. He wanted to experience it with his Molly.

As soon as Magnussen was dealt with, his new life with Molly would begin. There would be no secrets between them, no secrets to keep from others. They could have a future together. He felt a great surge of adrenaline run through him. Hadn't he jumped off a roof and survived? Hadn't he also survived an almost fatal gunshot wound? Sherlock Holmes was invincible. Yes, today he would succeed, as he always did.

He could not have been more wrong.

* * *

 **Author's note:** So, Sherlock is ready to move on with his life with Molly at last. I just had to give them a little bit of happiness before the events ahead. Ah, sometimes is it heartbreaking to know I am following canon here. It is so tempting to have Sherlock just decide to forget this ridiculous plan but alas, this story is far from finished.

And yes, for my regular readers, you will see that once again I have put in the locket which the "real" Sherlock gave Molly as a wedding present. I don't think he has the same ideas about sentiment as he used to, do you? Shades of the "real" Sherlock continue to creep into his dream.


	23. Heartbreaking Goodbyes

After Sherlock had gone, Molly put on the locket necklace. It had been such a special gift. She lifted the locket up to open it and noticed something she had missed the first time. There was engraving on it. In the most delicate cursive were the words, _Always in My Heart_. Molly caught her breath. Did he really mean that? Had he really thought about those words when he bought it for her? He was certainly acting that way. Did she dare to hope that Sherlock might actually be coming to love her as she did him? She couldn't help but pray it was so.

She placed a hand on her stomach. Could they have conceived another child? She knew very well that those foil packets were in her bedside drawer ready to be used when needed, but she had not asked Sherlock to use protection, nor had he requested it. After their talk earlier, he had apparently decided that if it was meant to be, it would happen.

Molly tossed and turned restlessly for the next hour, then gave up. She could not stop thinking about Sherlock and his dangerous plan. Was he already on his way to Sussex? She sincerely hoped he would keep his word and text her later.

Hearing Victoria stir, Molly went into her daughter's bedroom and put her arms around her. "Merry Christmas, sweet pea," she said without thinking.

"That's what Daddy says," noted Victoria with a sleepy smile, looking at Molly through her dark fringed eyelashes that so resembled Sherlock's.

"I guess your daddy is rubbing off on me," she responded. "Are you ready to open Christmas presents?"

"Yes, Mummy," exclaimed the toddler, bouncing up and down on her cot bed, which Sherlock had helped Molly to convert from the cot to a bed when he had been staying with them.

For the next hour Victoria opened her presents and played with them. After that it was time to go over to Baker Street.

When they arrived, Molly wished she had been going upstairs to see Sherlock, but of course, he was not there. Mrs. Hudson opened the door with a smile. "I have everything ready for us to make some gingerbread men," she announced.

Victoria was excited at the prospect of helping Nanny Hudders with the special biscuit. Mrs. Hudson, for her part, was very patient with the toddler, showing her how to combine the ingredients. After she rolled out the dough, Victoria, with Molly's help, pressed out the gingerbread shapes.

Despite the fun activity, Molly still had a vague sense of uneasiness.

Apparently Mrs. Hudson noticed because she asked, "What's wrong, dear? You don't seem like yourself."

"I'm just worried about Sherlock," admitted Molly. "He's messing with a ruthless criminal and I don't like it."

"Oh, he'll be fine. He comes through everything smelling like a rose. He'll come back to you soon, I know he will," the landlady assured her.

"I hope so. I think we're finally getting somewhere with our relationship," confided Molly.

The older woman chuckled, startling Victoria, who had been making a block tower which toppled as a result, causing the toddler to make an aggrieved huff of annoyance and begin her task again. "From what I saw last night, I would tend to agree," said Mrs. Hudson with a sly wink. "I could have sworn I heard Sherlock coming in very early this morning."

Molly blushed. "I just want everything out in the open with us now that it has been several months since I ended my engagement. Sherlock promised me once this man is put away we can let people know about Victoria being his child."

"And bring your own relationship into the open too, I presume," remarked the elderly woman.

"That too," sighed Molly. "I just hate subterfuge. It's ridiculous really. You know about us, Sherlock's parents know, Mary knows. Mycroft doesn't, but I don't care about that. It's mainly John's ignorance that concerns me. I have a feeling he is not going to be happy we kept things from him again. Not after he didn't know about Sherlock faking his death."

Mrs. Hudson looked at her in surprise. "Sherlock's parents and Mary know as well? How did that come about?"

Molly gave her a rueful smile, absently tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. "With Mary it was an accident. Victoria and I were visiting Sherlock in hospital and Mary overheard Victoria say 'Daddy.' As for Sherlock's parents, he told them to visit. He was tired of them harassing him all the time about grandchildren."

Mrs. Hudson laughed and looked over at the toddler who had moved on to assembling a puzzle, a more complicated 50 piece one this time. "I'll bet that was a shock."

Molly nodded. "You could say that. But they were very nice about it. They even invited us for Christmas, but of course Sherlock said no, because he has this plan today to catch a criminal."

"I remember him saying he had to catch a bad man today, but really, on

Christmas Day? That lad has a terrible sense of timing."

"Yeah." Molly rolled her eyes. "Tell me about it."

After lunch and gingerbread men for dessert, Molly received the text she'd been waiting for.

 _God, I wish you were here. I wish you were both here. Looking forward to getting back to London, and you._

She smiled at that and responded.

 _Me too. How is your plan going?_

 _Should be implementing it soon. I'll let you know when it's over._

 _Okay,_ she texted back, adding silently, _I miss you. I love you._

The day wore on and nothing more was heard from Sherlock.

Mrs. Hudson noticed her mounting distress. "I'm sure everything's fine, Molly dear. You know Sherlock. He probably was just so excited about getting his man that he forgot to text you."

Molly shook her head. "I just have this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. Something's wrong. He would have texted me if he could have."

"Molly, dear, you are talking about a man who forgets to even eat when he is in the middle of a case," Mrs. Hudson said placatingly, "but if you are worried, why don't you text him instead?"

Molly nodded and shot off a text to Sherlock.

 _Are you okay? What happened?_

To her dismay her phone remained unresponsive.

Finally, she decided to go home. Victoria was sleepy after such an exciting day, and Molly needed to think about what to do next.

By the time she had tucked Victoria into bed it was almost ten o'clock. Molly checked her phone to see if a message had come in while she was putting Victoria to bed. Nothing. By this time, Molly was beginning to get very agitated, so she decided to try texting Mary. She still wasn't sure if she was ready to forgive Mary for shooting Sherlock, but her fear for him outweighed her conflicting feelings towards the other woman.

 _Mary, I haven't heard from Sherlock. He promised to text me about things today. Do you know why he hasn't?_

The response came back quickly.

 _Before we talk about that, Sherlock told me that he spoke to you about things and I have to tell you how sorry I am, I wish I could have told you the truth but I didn't want to ruin our friendship. I hope you will forgive me and try to understand that I never wanted to hurt Sherlock, but I was in a desperate situation. Please say you forgive me._

Molly read the text and hesitated. Apparently she was going to have to confront her feelings now if she wanted to find out what had happened that day. She spent a few minutes in silent prayer, asking for God to grant her a forgiving heart, to take away her anger and finally peace settled over her. She didn't doubt Mary's sincerity, especially in light of the fact she had given Sherlock permission to discuss things. That must have been a hard thing to do.

Molly drew in a deep cleansing breath and sent a text back to Mary

 _I'm sorry, I had to take a few minutes for myself. I do forgive you, Mary, and I am trying to put the hurt of it behind me. But please, for now, can you tell me what happened today? I'm really worried._

As if she had been waiting by her phone, Mary responded immediately.

 _Thank you, Molly. It means a lot to me that you are willing to forgive me. As for today, I have to ask, did Sherlock tell you what he was planning? I had no idea._

Molly stared at the text. What was going on?

 _Sherlock just told me he had a plan to catch Magnussen,_ she responded.

 _I don't mean to be rude, but his idiotic plan involved drugging me, his brother and his parents, then dragging John off to see Magnussen personally._

Molly could hardly believe what she was reading. What the hell was Sherlock doing drugging a pregnant woman and his family? _More secrets,_ she thought bitterly.

She pursed her lips and texted back, _Are you okay? Is everyone okay, the baby?_

 _We're all fine. That Wiggins fellow Sherlock invited apparently made sure none of us suffered any long term effects and the baby is fine as well. But there's something I need to tell you. Are you sitting down?_

Molly frowned. She was, in fact, sitting down on the sofa, but what was that supposed to mean?

 _I'm on my sofa, why do you ask?_

 _Oh God, I'm sorry to have to tell you this. Sherlock has been arrested._

Molly read the text and understood why Mary had asked if she was sitting, because she knew her legs would have buckled if she had been standing. She felt bile rising in her throat. Oh dear God, what had gone wrong? Had he been arrested for drugging his family, for treason?

With trembling fingers she typed, _What happened?_

 _John told me he shot Magnussen in the head and killed him._

This time when Molly read Mary's text she dropped her phone, ran to the bathroom and was violently sick. Then the tears came, overwhelming her. All her hopes and dreams for them, everything was crushed. Sherlock had escaped death, but he surely was not above the law. What had led to him killing the man? What had gone so wrong?

Her phone pinged and then pinged again. Molly went to retrieve it. Two messages from Mary.

 _Molly, are you okay?_ Then, _Molly, are you there?_

Molly finally responded with shaking fingers and several misspelled words she had to correct before sending the text. Her vision was so blurred with tears, she was amazed she was able to type at all.

 _I'm here. Do you know where they took him?_

She grabbed a tissue and wiped her eyes to clear her vision and read the response.

 _John said Mycroft took him to a secure government facility and he was put in solitary confinement_.

 _No wonder he never texted me back,_ Molly thought miserably.

 _Mary, what can I do? How can I see him?"_

Mary's answer was not encouraging.

 _I'm so sorry, hon, I don't think it will be possible. If I find out anything more, I'll let you know._

Molly managed to thank Mary, then dropped her phone again and buried her face in her hands. It was over. The worst had happened, as she had feared.

 _God, how could you let this happen to him?_ she cried out silently in her anguish, and for the first time in years, there was no answer and it seemed God remained silent.

For the next few days Molly felt as if she were in a nightmare from which she could not awaken. She went to work, came home, took care of her daughter. There was nobody she could ask about Sherlock, certainly not his brother, and she knew Mary would let her know if she had any news.

On New Year's Day, she finally got another text from Mary.

 _John just told me Sherlock is being sent on an overseas MI6 mission to eastern Europe to get him out of the country, in order to avoid imprisonment. Mycroft is allowing us to go to the airfield to say goodbye tomorrow. He's due to leave in the early afternoon. Obviously, Mycroft is going to have to allow Sherlock time to pack something for the trip. My suggestion, if you want to see him, is to go to Baker Street early and wait for him. At least you can say goodbye. I'm so, so sorry, Molly._

Molly read the text. Sherlock was being sent away. She had an awful feeling that this time it would be a one-way trip. There was no doubt in her mind that an MI6 mission would be an incredibly dangerous one. He was never going to see their daughter grow up, never going to implement those long term plans. She felt as if her heart had been ripped out of her.

Molly called the hospital and arranged to take the morning off the following day. She was going to take Mary's advice, so she texted her friend.

 _Thanks for letting me know. I'm going to do it._

The following day, Molly and Victoria headed to Baker Street a couple hours before her shift was due to start.

"Are we going to see Daddy?" asked her toddler excitedly.

"I hope so, sweet pea." She swallowed convulsively after saying the words. Funny how Sherlock's pet name for Victoria had become her own for their daughter.

Arriving at Baker Street, she knocked at the front door which was opened by a surprised Mrs. Hudson. "Oh, when you didn't bring Victoria this morning, I thought you must be sick," she said, sounding somewhat puzzled.

"I'm sorry, I completely forgot to call. I took the morning off," Molly whispered into the elderly lady's ear. "Sherlock is being sent to Europe. Things went wrong on Christmas Day."

Mrs. Hudson's eyes widened in dismay. "Is that why he hasn't been home in a week?"

Victoria's sharp ears picked up Mrs. Hudsons question and she looked at her mother questioningly. "Where's Daddy?"

"He should be coming home soon, sweetheart." To Mrs. Hudson she said, "I'll explain later. Do you think you could let me into the flat? He will have to come home to pack."

"Daddy's going bye?" queried the much too bright toddler.

"Yes. He is going to have to go away. That is why we are coming, to surprise him and say goodbye."

Victoria's lower lip trembled. "Don't want Daddy go bye."

"I know, sweet pea. Neither do I. But he has to go and do some important work." She looked at Mrs. Hudson pleadingly. The woman fetched the spare key and handed it to Molly.

Molly went upstairs with Victoria. She had brought along some colouring books to occupy her daughter. Then she sat on the sofa and waited.

Half an hour later, Molly heard the sound of the door downstairs. She tensed, ready for Sherlock to enter, but he didn't. Ten minutes passed and she was just wondering what was going on when she heard the door being opened and a muttered, "Could have sworn I locked it."

Victoria sprang up from the floor immediately and hurtled in her father's direction the moment he entered.

Sherlock stood there, looking completely bewildered.

Then he hissed, "What the hell are you doing here?"

Molly was shocked and Victoria whimpered, backing away from the agitated man.

Molly felt the colour rising in her cheeks as she said, "Mary told me what happened. I...we came to say goodbye."

"You should have stayed the bloody hell away from me, Molly. I can't deal with this right now." He was pulling at his coat sleeve as he spoke and Molly's lips tightened at the way he was speaking in front of their daughter.

"Watch your language in front of our daughter, Sherlock" she told him sharply, and he had the grace to look somewhat ashamed.

"Sorry," he muttered, and she saw a muscle twitching in his cheek.

"Victoria, I'm going to take you downstairs for a few minutes to visit with Nanny Hudders. Daddy and I need to talk," Molly told her daughter, who was still looking a little confused and upset over her father's strange behaviour. Molly wasn't surprised. Sherlock had always exhibited nothing but gentleness with his daughter. Yet here he was, acting as if he didn't want her near him.

Molly saw tears in Victoria's eyes as she nodded. "Okay, Mummy."

Molly cast Sherlock a fierce look and hurried down the stairs with Victoria to see Mrs. Hudson, where she quickly explained the situation. The elderly landlady picked up the toddler and soothed the little girl whose tears had begun to flow more freely down her face. "Come on, lovey. Would you like some ice cream?"

"Yes please, Nanny," responded Victoria, brightening somewhat, and Mrs. Hudson made a shooing motion to indicate Molly should leave.

With a grateful nod, Molly headed back upstairs to confront the man she loved.

Sherlock was in his bedroom. He had pulled out a suitcase and was packing it, throwing things into it in a haphazard fashion.

Molly stood watching, arms folded. This was not the way she had envisioned their meeting would go.

"Stop staring at me, Molly," Sherlock said in an icy tone, not looking at her.

Molly felt her heart constrict. Why was he being so cold to her? The last time they had spoken, during that text, he had been expressing his wish to get back to London, to be with her and Victoria. This was a different man, someone she didn't even recognise. She swallowed, wishing her mouth didn't feel as if it were stuffed with cotton wool. "Were you going to say goodbye to your daughter and me, now you are being shipped off somewhere?"

He still didn't look at her. "You should have stayed away."

She gritted her teeth, trying to hold back the threatening tears that seems to always be close to the surface lately. "Why, Sherlock? Do we matter so little to you?"

He whirled on her, pausing from his feverish packing. "Don't be bloody ridiculous, Molly. It's just-" he paused, then continued in a voice that was suddenly tinged with regret, "You're better off without me. Just forget me, okay? Move on with your life." He looked away again and rubbed at his arm. Molly could see his eyes looked slightly unfocussed.

Her eyes narrowed then. He was hiding something. "Why did it take you ten minutes to come upstairs?"

He refused to answer but remained still and suddenly she knew. "Why do you keep rubbing your arm? Do you have a secret stash of drugs somewhere? Are you _high_?",She strode over to him and reached up to place her hands on either side of his face, so he couldn't look away.

She could see the answer in his too bright gaze, the blown wide pupils that she hadn't noticed before, but she needed to confirm it. "Pull up your sleeve," she demanded, dropping her hands from his face and stepping back

"No." The response was curt.

"I said pull up your damned sleeve!" she yelled, and his eyes widened in shock at her tone. She raised her arm threateningly, ready to strike, to slap him if he refused again.

Reluctantly, he capitulated, taking off his coat and suit jacket, then raising his right shirt sleeve. Clean.

"Give me some credit, Sherlock, I'm not an idiot. That isn't even the arm you were rubbing. Show me the other one," she ordered. Even more reluctantly, he did so.

The evidence of a recent needle mark was clearly visible by the bruising around the puncture wound, and this time she followed through with her threatening arm, slapping him so hard her hand stung. He merely gave her a reproachful look. "How could you do this to yourself again?" she snapped.

He shrugged, rubbing his stinging cheek. "I have nothing to live for now. What does it matter if I hurry things along?" His voice was so devoid of life that she drew in her breath in a sharp gasp.

"So, I was right in what I was thinking. You're not coming back," she said, her anger suddenly abating as quickly as it had begun. She couldn't help herself, reaching a hand out to touch his own.

Her touch seemed to bring him back to himself and he sat on the edge of the bed, pulling her down beside him before he turned his gaze on her and said in a hollow voice, "I killed a man in cold blood, Molly. I go on the mission or spend the rest of my life in prison. Either way, I'm a dead man walking." His shoulders hunched and he looked suddenly defeated.

She slipped her arms around him, holding him and he murmured, "Forgive me, Molly. I messed up. I was so sure of myself, so sure Magnussen had those blasted files in his vaults. What a fool I was."

Her hand moved along his back in a soothing motion. "Were the files elsewhere then?" she asked gently.

He gave a shuddering breath. "That's what an idiot I was. I underestimated him. He didn't need hard copies. He kept everything in his own mind palace."

"Oh my God," breathed Molly, trying to process his words.

A single tear streaked down his cheek as he looked at her. "So I shot him. I shot him so that he couldn't hurt anyone anymore."

"You sacrificed your future to save others," she said softly.

"I sacrificed _our_ future too." He disengaged her arms from around him. "Don't think too badly of me, okay? All I could think about at the time was that it was all my fault and I had to take responsibility so that John wouldn't suffer the consequences."

"Oh Sherlock, I'm angry with you, for what you are doing to your body right now with these drugs, but I also know you. I know you didn't do this to hurt me and our daughter." Molly bit her lip, trying not to cry. There was no point in being upset about something she couldn't change, and time was short. She let out a resigned sigh. "You should finish packing. Let me get Victoria so you can say goodbye to her."

She stood. He put out a hand and grasped her arm. "Seeing as you are here, can I have one last kiss to remember you by?"

She nodded mutely and he pulled her onto his lap. Then his lips were on hers, and for a moment she could pretend everything was fine, that they were together. He kissed her desperately, and she responded, putting her arms around his neck to prolong the contact even as the tears she had been trying to hold back fell. He removed his lips from hers to kiss her tear-stained cheeks. He captured her lips once more for several seconds longer, before lifting his head. "I never did deserve you," he said, with tears on his own cheeks as he released her and she stood again so he could resume packing.

Molly wiped at her tears, then went downstairs to get Victoria. When she returned with the toddler, Sherlock was just fastening his suitcase. He had already put his jacket and Belstaff back on as well.

He reached out his arms for his daughter and lifted her up to hold her close. "I'm sorry about earlier, sweet pea. Daddy has to go away now. You have to be a big girl and take care of Mummy, okay?"

She nodded. "I love you, Daddy." She wrapped her little arms around him in a fierce hug.

"I love you too, sweet pea, my little Victoria. Remember," his voice cracked a little as he said the next words, looking over at Molly as he said the words, "you will always be in my heart."

As he spoke, Molly remembered what was on her locket. At least he loved their daughter. She was always in his heart. He had no problem telling Victoria he loved _her_.

Molly desperately wanted to tell him she loved him, but there was no point now. They had no future anymore, as he had said.

He kept his gaze on Molly, then began to speak in a strangely intense voice that matched his expression, "Molly, I need to-" he was interrupted by a peremptory knock sounding on the outer door downstairs.

"That will be my handlers," said Sherlock, closing his eyes briefly, then opening them again. He gave himself a little shake, as if he was reasserting control of his emotions. "I need to go. Stay here so nobody sees you, okay?" He was looking at her and she saw the resignation in his eyes.

"Okay," she whispered, digging her nails into her palms so hard that she would have pierced the skin if she didn't keep them short for her work.

Setting their daughter gently down, he bent to kiss the toddler's cheek, then pressed his lips to Molly's once more, murmuring against her lips., "Always."

This time her own eyes closed as she felt the touch of those lips for what would be the last time, committing it to memory. "I'll be praying for you," she whispered, but wasn't sure if he heard her as he turned away.

He picked up his suitcase and walked from the bedroom, as Molly lifted Victoria into her arms and followed him to the front door.

He gave them one last look and headed down the stairs as Molly closed the door behind him and went over to the window with Victoria. Mother and daughter watched silently as Sherlock was escorted into the black vehicle that would take him away from them forever.

"Goodbye, my love," Molly whispered as the door closed on the man she would always love.

"Goodbye Daddy," said Victoria, and Molly buried her face in her daughter's hair as she wept bitterly, just as she had done when he had left her after she had refused to break off her engagement. She couldn't help wondering if things would have been different for them had she done so, but there was no point in thinking about that now.

And just like the previous time, Victoria's sobs joined her own, as she instinctively felt her mother's pain.

A few minutes later, Molly collected herself enough to leave the flat and hand Victoria over to the care of a sympathetic Mrs. Hudson, to whom she whispered the sad details of what was happening to Sherlock, then dragged herself off to work.

 _Why have you forsaken me, God?_ she asked silently and once again, there was no answer forthcoming.

* * *

 **Author's note:** Well, Molly is definitely having a crisis of faith here as her world is crashing into pieces around her. When things go wrong, I think it is definitely the gut reaction of many people to ask God why it has happened.

I've always found the events surrounding Sherlock's exile to be fascinating, especially the way he doesn't seem high when he says goodbye to John and Mary, but it is revealed he is later, in the plane. Hope you like my little explanation. Do you have your own head canon about that?


	24. One-Way Mission

**Special note:** This is a trigger warning to alert my readers of the fact that this chapter contains scenes of intravenous drug use.

* * *

Sherlock settled resignedly into his seat in the small plane, ready for his one way trip to death. He reflected on the events of the last few days that had led to him being here.

Christmas Day had begun very well, at least in the early hours of it. He had been so full of hope for a future with Molly and their daughter at last. He'd been absolutely sure about those vaults under Appledore. Now he cursed himself for the fool he was for dismissing a very important clue that debunked that theory - Magnussen's spectacles.

When he had examined Magnussen's spectacles on the day he made that deal, he had been convinced the man somehow used them and read information hidden inside the lenses, much the way Iron Man used his helmet's visor and read information through it. As soon as he discovered the spectacles had no hidden properties, he _should_ have realised that Magnussen's mind contained the evidence of all his blackmail schemes. But no, Sherlock Holmes was infallible, Sherlock Holmes did not make grave miscalculations like that.

It had been a huge shock to discover he had been so wrong about the newspaperman. In the end, the decision to shoot the man had been a calculated one. He knew the consequences of such an action, knew his life would be forfeit as a result, but what was one life, compared to many? What he had not expected to feel was the guilt.

Sure, the detective had been involved in dangerous cases involving shoot-outs and the like, including ones that had occurred during his time away from London. He had been responsible for more than one death as a result of armed combat, but he had never pulled the trigger before on an unarmed man. Now he was not only a killer, he was a murderer.

Through that lonely week of solitary confinement, unable to speak with anyone or have contact with anyone outside of the guards who brought him meals, who had obviously been instructed to not talk to him, Sherlock had had plenty of time to reflect on his life and past mistakes. Sure, he had done good things, but he had also taken people for granted, acted in a thoughtless manner, been rude, selfish and arrogant. Belief in his own superiority had led to a man's death at his hand.

Sherlock had thought of Molly frequently, wondering what she was thinking about his silence, wondering if anyone had told her what had happened, but he had nobody to ask about it.

When Mycroft came to his cell a week after the incident to say a deal had been struck for him to take on that lethal MI6 mission after all, instead of sending him to prison, Sherlock had felt relieved. At least he would have a shot at his own destiny. His life would be in his own hands. Yeah, Mycroft had estimated he would be dead within six months, but there was at least a chance for survival, if he were very lucky. _Perhaps Molly's God will protect me,_ he thought fleetingly.

When Mycroft sent him back to Baker Street to pack, along with an armed escort, the first thing Sherlock wanted was escape - not escape from his captors, but escape from himself. So he entered the building and surreptitiously went into the unused flat of 221C, using the key he had made a copy of years earlier during the Carl Powers investigation that Moriarty had engineered for him. He found his hidden stash of drugs and made the necessary preparations. He made his list of the contents of the drug cocktail for Mycroft as usual. He would not break his promise to his brother. If he accidentally overdosed, Mycroft would know what he had overdosed on. Then he sought relief with a needle in his arm.

After it was done he prepared a second syringe for later and carefully put it in his trouser pocket, then headed up to 221B to pack, already feeling a welcome euphoria and numbness to recent events overtake him. He had been shocked out of it the moment he climbed the stairs to his flat and a little figure hurled itself at him. He had been so discombobulated at seeing Molly and Victoria that he had frightened his daughter with his harsh words.

Of course, it had been embarrassing too that Molly had guessed he was high. Perhaps it was the high that had made him bold enough to beg for one last kiss from the woman he loved. Although he had not wanted to see her, he now felt glad they had had a chance to say goodbye. She had looked so beautiful with her hair parted to the side in the way he favoured, and he was certain she often did it that way to please him, remembering his words from years earlier about it suiting her better that way. As he drank in her sweet features, the tears trembling on her lashes and threatening to spill over, the way she was biting her lip in the manner she always did when she was anxious, finally the guilt over Magnussen's death that had plagued him for over a week had given way to a desperate longing for just one more special moment with Molly, something to store in his mind palace and remember in his last moments when they inevitably occurred on the dangerous mission ahead. Then when she brought Victoria to him, he mentally memorised his daughter's features, seeing the resemblance to her mother, wondering how to say goodbye to the child he had only had the opportunity to know for a little over a year. It wasn't anywhere near long enough. He should have been there to walk her down the aisle one day, to prove to her how much he loved her mother, to set a good example, and now that was all lost to him due to his belief in his own infallibility. He didn't deserve his daughter's love, yet he had it anyway.

He had given Molly a meaningful look when telling Victoria she would always be in his heart, hoping Molly understood the words were meant for her as well. In fact, he had almost blurted out the truth, confessed that he loved her, but that knock at the door had stopped him. Reality had set in, a reality that telling her those words would only serve to hurt her further if she dwelled on them. If he was going to die, he wanted her to at least have the opportunity to move on with someone else, find someone who would be a substitute father for Victoria. The thought hurt like hell but he couldn't be selfish. It was better for her this way, to leave things unsaid. God, why was loving someone so damned painful? He understood now Mycroft's assertions about caring not being an advantage. It left you vulnerable, exposed, raw.

As his chest burned with the love for Molly he had forced himself to keep locked away, he had buried his face in his hands once he was in the safety of the car that was taking him to the airfield where he had his date with destiny. Tears of anguish spilled from his eyes as he left his heart behind in Baker Street. The whole encounter with Molly and Victoria had served to almost completely dissipate the buzz of his high and he felt completely his usual self once he reached the airfield.

It was fortunate he didn't still feel the euphoric effects of the drugs when he saw who had come to see him off. He had expected to just be ushered into the jet without fuss, accompanied by his escorts and perhaps to say goodbye to Mycroft, but no, there were John and Mary, come to see him off. He was both glad and sad to see them. John, of course, had no clue he was headed on a one-way mission and he had glibly stated it as being something that would occupy him for about six months.

He told Mary to look after John and had to smile at her quip of "keeping him in trouble". Yes, Mary was a wonderful woman, and he hoped that Molly and she would continue to get closer, as soon as Molly recovered from the shock of what Mary had done to him. He hoped for that even more when John informed him their baby was a girl before he said his final goodbye and climbed the steps of the small jet. At least Victoria would have a playmate when the child grew older. It saddened him to think of the unborn child he would never get to meet. That thought turned his own to the possibility that he might have another child of his own growing in Molly's womb who would also never know him.

Now, in his seat, he continued to reflect on his last intimate encounter with Molly on Christmas Eve. Those unforgettable two times they had made love and not used contraception. Yes, the first time had been unintentional, but the second - he had thought about it and felt things were secure enough in his relationship with Molly that another child would be welcome, he would soon be proposing to her and hopefully marrying her anyway. So, there was a chance she might be pregnant, in which case she would need all the support she could get.

 _How do I feel about that in light of the current circumstances?_ he asked himself. Would it be better for Molly to not have to deal with another unplanned pregnancy now that he would be out of the picture? Or would he want to know she had another reminder of him? By the way his parents had welcomed the news of being grandparents, Sherlock had the distinct feeling they, at the very least, would be glad to know their son had miraculously presented them with not just one, but two grandchildren. He supposed once he was dead there would no longer be any need to keep Victoria's paternity a secret and he wished he had told Molly that.

It was too bad Mycroft had confiscated his phone once again after returning it briefly to him in order to let Lestrade know he would no longer be available for consultation by the Yard. Gavin, or whatever his name was, had been having a beer at a local pub and Sherlock could hear the noise of a football game in the background. The detective inspector was, naturally, disappointed to hear he was headed to eastern Europe for several months, but had wished him the best of luck and God speed, saying he hoped he would return soon. Yes, thought Sherlock, if only he had his phone, he would have told Molly to turn to his parents for support once he was gone. Victoria and Molly were no longer in danger of being used as blackmail pawns from the likes of Magnussen.

Sherlock sighed. Well, perhaps his mother would take Molly and Victoria under her wing once Mycroft informed them of his death. He was sincerely glad he had at least done one good thing, and that was to reveal the truth to his parents.

His sad introspection was interrupted by a voice saying, "Sir? It's you brother," and he took the proffered phone from the man's hand, annoyed to be disturbed. What the hell did Mycroft want now?

"Mycroft," he acknowledged flatly into the phone.

"Hello, little brother," was the all too cheerful response. "How's the exile going?" _Is this some sort of morbid joke?_ he wondered, _one last chance for Mycroft to twist the knife?_

His brother was obviously seriously messed up in the head to be asking that, he thought, responding with a curt, "I've only been gone four minutes."

"Well I certainly hope you've learned your lesson," came his brother's rather surprising, almost teasing reply. His brows drew together slightly as Mycroft continued. "As it turns out, you're needed."

"For God's sake, make up your mind. Who needs me this time?" he asked in a surly tone, wishing he could just return to his own gloomy thoughts and wallow in misery. He fingered the waiting syringe in his trouser pocket. It was time for another fix anyway.

He was startled by Mycroft's next word, it was the last thing he had expected. "England."

" _I'll be praying for you,"_ Molly had said as he prepared to leave Baker Street for the last time. Apparently Molly's God had answered her prayers in a timely manner. Perhaps there really was something to this God thing. How many times had he been saved from certain death now? He'd lost count. But he didn't have time to dwell on that now. Apparently, England needed his assistance, and he needed something to help him think. Sherlock hoped it had been long enough between his last hit and now to not incur an overdose. He couldn't be sure.

In those few minutes before returning to solid earth, Sherlock slid the hidden syringe out of his trouser pocket and surreptitiously injected himself with another cocktail of drugs, then entered his mind palace to think about things. Moriarty was dead, yet his image had been plastered all over England, on every viewscreen. He had a bizarre kind of dream while in his mind palace. The end result didn't really help him understand what was going on, although it had been rather amusing to imagine himself in Victorian times, and even more to imagine Molly disguising herself as a man in order to do a man's job in the morgue. Moriarty was back somehow, but he was still dead. He'd almost overdosed in his attempt to sort things out in his head too, which had obviously been a shock to John who was clueless that he'd even been high when he got on the plane. Then again, John hadn't really been sure he was high either on the day he ordered Sherlock to take a urine test. If he hadn't actually been in the crack den, Joh would have been none the wiser. Sherlock was very good at acting "normal" even when under the influence of drugs. He'd had many years to perfect the art in his youth, even if he had only "fallen off the wagon" in recent months because of the damned Magnussen case which had ended up leading to this predicament in the first place.

As soon as Sherlock was comfortably settled in the back of the car with Mycroft to return to Baker Street, he held out his hand. "Can I have my phone back now?" he asked impatiently. He was not going to show any sign of relief to his brother that he'd escaped his fate. Mycroft would think it a sign of weakness.

Mycroft sighed and reached into his pocket, pulling out Sherlock's phone. "You're a lucky man, brother mine," he said, running a hand through his thinning hair. "I will certainly have my work cut out for me now in trying to figure out how to get you off the hook for your crime so that you can determine how that image appeared everywhere."

"You're the British Government, Mycroft. I'm sure you'll think of something," responded Sherlock lightly with a shrug. He was still feeling rather euphoric from the drug high as well as his unexpected freedom. His mind was whirling with what to do next. He'd have to let Molly know he hadn't been sent away after all, of course, but he wasn't about to do that while still in the car with Mycroft. He do that once he arrived home. He supposed it would be best not to immediately see his daughter either. He didn't think Molly would approve of him visiting with her when he was still high. Maybe he'd visit with her later that day. He folded his arms and stared out the window.

Mycroft's said from beside him, "As soon as you get home, you had better sleep off this damn drug high and then get to work on this next case. Stay off the sauce in future."

"Don't worry about me, Mycroft," Sherlock responded shortly. "I'm a user, not an addict, remember? I'll be too busy figuring out what Moriarty's plan was, to be indulging in that sort of thing."

Mycroft merely gave a grunt and they rode in silence the rest of the way.

Once they arrived at Baker Street, Mycroft said, "Expect to hear from me soon once I have discovered a way to absolve you from your foolish actions on Christmas Day."

Sherlock's lips quirked as he stepped out of the vehicle and waited for the chauffeur to bring his staircase from the boot. "I'll be waiting, _Father_ Mycroft," he quipped, and Mycroft rolled his eyes.

Sherlock watched as the black car pulled away from the kerb then looked at the front door with the slightly askew knocker he had not expected to see again and unlocked it. It was just as well he still had his key. He contemplated knocking on Mrs. Hudson's door so he could inform her he was back, but decided it would be best that Victoria not see him in this state. He would have a sleep and go back downstairs later. For now he wanted to send Molly a text to let her know he was not going away after all.

He entered the hallway, hearing music playing in Mrs. Hudson's flat, what sounded like children's voices apparently playing for Victoria's benefit. Undoubtedly this was why Mrs. Hudson had not heard him enter.

He headed upstairs and into his flat, setting his suitcase on the bed and then returning to the sitting room to send off a text to Molly.

 _Molly, it's me. It looks like your former boyfriend has been instrumental in saving me from exile._

He probably shouldn't have said the second sentence, but he was still feeling a little giddy at his narrow escape. It wasn't long before he received a response.

 _Oh my God, Sherlock, what's going on? I saw that image of Moriarty on a TV screen. I don't appreciate your humour either, by the way. You know quite well Moriarty was not my boyfriend._

Sherlock bit back a smile at her annoyance about his little joke.

 _Sorry, a bit of gallows humour. I'm back home, so come up and see me after your shift and I'll explain what happened. When will you be done?_

 _Six. Did you see Victoria yet?_

His lips twisted slightly. Should he tell Molly he was keeping away from her until he had slept off the effects of the drugs in his system? Probably not the best idea. Better to give her the bare minimum of information for now.

 _Not yet. I'll see her later, I have some unpacking to do. When you come to pick her up, come and see me first so we can talk privately. I'll arrange things with Mrs Hudson._

He smiled at her response.

 _Alright. I guess God answered my prayers after all. I should never have doubted Him._

That was his Molly. If anyone had a direct line to that unseen power she wholeheartedly believed in, it was her.

He turned off his phone and put it on the charger, then went to his bedroom to unpack and have a nap.

He didn't bother undressing, just took off his shoes and suit jacket, then threw himself onto the bed and set his internal alarm clock to make sure he was up in two hours.

Just before his eyes drifted shut in slumber, he took one last look at the pictures on his bedside table, the ones he had thought to never see again outside of his mind palace, and he smiled. Those long-term plans he had thought forever derailed were now back on track.

* * *

 **Author's note:** Don't you find it interesting that Sherlock's reprieve came as a result of that video footage? Personally, I think it was no accident at all and I actually addressed that in my initial story, _A Journey to Love, Faith and Marriage_. How about you? Have you ever thought it odd that Sherlock still thought there were vaults beneath Appledore even after he realized Magnussen was just wearing ordinary spectacles? I felt that was a pretty big mistake!

Are you looking forward to seeing how he will explain things to Molly?

A big thanks to those of you who have been following and reviewing this story. It means so much to have that support. Of course, I'd love to get some feedback from the usually silent readers out there as well. The review box below awaits your contribution.


	25. Changing Circumstances

When Sherlock woke, he felt decidedly more like himself. It was already past five o'clock and time for him to head down to see Mrs. Hudson and his daughter. He was annoyed to find his fingers trembling slightly though, and his body craving another hit. He knew the best distraction would be to immerse himself in work, but seeing his daughter and Molly would also help take his mind off getting a fix. He gritted his teeth against the craving and headed downstairs.

He reached Mrs. Hudson's front door and heard the murmur of voices, a high pitched one and a lower alto as a utensil scraped on a plate. Apparently his landlady and Victoria were having some dinner. The smell of shepherd's pie filled the air and Sherlock's mouth watered.

He knocked and Mrs. Hudson gave a little gasp of surprise. She would undoubtedly be wondering how someone had been able to enter the building.

Reassuringly, he called out, "It's just me, Mrs. Hudson. I'm back."

A few seconds later the door opened and Mrs. Hudson stared at him. "What on earth is going on? Does this have something to do with that image of that nasty man I saw on the telly earlier when I was vacuuming your flat?"

Sherlock nodded. "It has everything to do with that."

"Daddy, you came back!" shrieked Victoria, climbing off her chair and running to him, tripping in her haste and he caught her up just before her knees hit the floor.

He swung her up into his arms, inhaling the scent of her freshly washed soft brown hair. He had thought to never see his daughter again and tears pricked his eyes as he clasped her tightly.

She struggled back in his embrace and looked at him with eyes that matched his own. "Daddy stay?"

He rubbed tiny circles in his daughter's back as he responded. "Yes, Daddy won't go away again."

"Pwomise?" she demanded, her startling blue-green eyes boring into his own while a little Molly-like frown creased her forehead. _My God,_ he thought in amazement, _she's such a perfect combination of the two of us._ He'd never really spent time up close like that, just having her looking up at him.

"I promise, sweet pea."

He looked over at Mrs. Hudson whose hands were clasped together in obvious delight at his words. "Molly told me what happened earlier," she said carefully, and Sherlock knew she didn't want to say too much in front of his daughter.

He set Victoria gently back down on the floor. "I'm sorry I couldn't tell you myself. I was not in a position to be in contact with people during the past week." He gave her a meaningful glance, hoping she understood what he was trying to imply. He didn't want Victoria knowing he had been in solitary confinement. Then he continued. "Anyway, about that. I spoke to Molly a short time ago and asked her to come up and see me when she finishes work. Would you mind looking after Victoria a little longer so we can have a chat?"

She gave him a suspicious look. "Much like the one you had the day before Christmas?" She raised an eyebrow and he flushed, remembering what had happened after he had talked with Molly.

"No," he assured her. "I simply need to explain to her what I need to do in order to determine what Moriarty's posthumous plans for revenge were or rather, _are,_ seeing as those plans have not yet come to light." He sighed. "Unfortunately, I think I may have to wait for things to be made clear, and in the meantime I will have to just cool my heels by going back to my regular crime-solving duties."

Mrs. Hudson put her hands on her hips. "Well, I certainly hope that this time you don't get things _wrong_ ," she told him archly and he pursed his lips.

"I shall do my best to play the waiting game and not make any hasty deductions." He eyed the casserole dish on the table longingly, feeling suddenly starved. He hadn't eaten yet today.

She interpreted his look accurately and remarked, "Well, you look hungry. Seeing as you are here, would you like some dinner?"

Sherlock smiled. "I would like that very much. The idea of eating has not been prominent in my mind today, at least not until now ."

Mrs. Hudson gave him a huge serving of shepherd's pie which he ate with gusto. She was almost as good a cook as Molly, he reflected, as he watched his daughter managing to handle a spoon very well to feed herself the meal. He was unutterably thankful he would now have the chance to see her grow up. after all. He wondered briefly if she would be interested in becoming a detective one day, or be more inclined towards the medical field, like her mother.

Once he had finished eating, Sherlock rose to his feet. "Thanks for the meal, Mrs. Hudson. I expect Molly will be arriving fairly shortly to talk with me, so I had better go upstairs," he informed Mrs. Hudson, then moved to place a kiss onto the top of Victoria's head. "I will come down and see you again after Mummy and I talk."

"Okay," she said agreeably, not even looking up at him, more interested in the little scoop of chocolate ice cream Mrs. Hudson had placed in front of her. _Ah, to be supplanted in her affections by a dish of chocolate ice cream,_ he thought, then smiled inwardly. He'd have to remember in future than his daughter liked chocolate as much as he did. Of course, she could have inherited that from her mother. He remembered how much Molly liked those hazelnut chocolate balls he had given her months earlier.

Sherlock headed back upstairs and decided to start doing some research as he waited for Molly. He picked up the laptop he had thought to never see again and stroked the top almost lovingly. "Hello, old friend," he murmured, and then felt almost embarrassed at expressing sentiment over an inanimate object.

As he opened the laptop, he felt his fingers tremble over the keys slightly again as another jolt of withdrawal hit. Distraction was definitely needed, he thought, forcing himself to focus on searching secret places on the web he was aware of for recent underworld activity. He was engrossed at his task when he recognised the light tread on the stairs and his heart leapt. Setting the laptop hastily down, suddenly more interested in expressing sentiment with a human being than his laptop as he had done earlier, Sherlock strode to the door and flung it open before Molly could knock.

She blinked at him, a little startled, with her hand poised to knock even as he drew her into his arms and kissed her thoroughly, like a dying man who had been denied water too long and had finally found an oasis. His heart thudded in his chest. It had only been a few hours, but it seemed like years.

She responded at first, but then put her hands against his chest and pushed him away gently. "I'm happy to see you too," she said rather breathlessly, "but I think it would be best to not have a repeat of what happened last time. You told me you were going to explain what happened, so here I am."

He took her hand and led her to the sofa. "Where should I start?"

Molly's brows drew together. "You could try explaining what the hell that image was that everyone in the country saw. I know Moriarty is dead, so how could it have happened? Does he have a twin?"

"It's never twins, Molly," he responded, rolling his eyes. "He obviously had contingency plans in place in case he didn't get off the roof alive. I just have to wait and see what they are."

She bit her lip. "Okay, I understand that, but how does that change your circumstances in regard to what you did on Christmas Day?"

He noted she carefully avoided saying he had shot Magnussen, and ran a hand through his hair. "I can't say for sure. I'm just leaving that in Mycroft's hands. Perhaps he'll get me a pardon or something in light of all the help I've provided in the past and the fact that Magnussen was a menace to society." He flashed her a hopeful smile.

"So, what now?" she questioned.

He knew instinctively that she was hoping he'd say they move on with their lives, together, but logic dictated that this last threat from Moriarty posed further risk if he should now come forward and tell the world he was in a relationship with Molly and that he had a child. No, that would be far too risky without knowing what Moriarty's plan was and who was now pulling the strings.

"Unfortunately, I cannot say right now. I just have to wait. In the meantime, I'll get back to doing what I always do, solving crime."

Molly looked at him rather nervously. "Does that...does that leave any time for us, I mean, Victoria and me?" she added by way of explanation, as if trying to make sure he didn't think she mean 'us' as in Molly and himself.

Her hand was still in his and he squeezed it. "I haven't changed my mind about us, Molly, if that's what you're thinking. But we may have to put things on hold temporarily again. If I thought Magnussen was a threat, it was nothing to what Moriarty could have planned for me. I don't want you involved in any way. If anything happened to you or Victoria, I'd never forgive myself."

Molly's lips tightened. "You're a detective, Sherlock. There is always going to be risk in your profession. I'm prepared to accept whatever happens. I just want to stop with the subterfuge already!" she declared passionately, pulling her hand from his and crossing her arms.

"Listen Molly, I estimate that Moriarty's plan will be unveiled within the next month, two at most. I'm going to monitor the underworld. Every quiver of the web will tell me when the spider makes his move, and his accomplice is revealed. When his long-term plan for me is exposed, I will deal with it and there will be no more need to hide our relationship or the fact that Victoria is my daughter." He gave her a pleading look but her lips were pressed in a thin line so he decided to try something else.

"In the meantime, why don't I call my parents and have them come up and see you and Victoria? I know they will want to see their granddaughter again. Mummy even told me off on Christmas Day, when Mycroft was out of earshot of course, for not insisting you come along, and for being an idiot."

He noticed the corners of Molly's mouth tilting upwards at that and pressed on. "So how about it? I work on solving cases until Moriarty's plan is brought to light, and you spend some time getting to know my parents?"

Molly gave a resigned sigh. "I don't suppose I have much choice. I'm sure Victoria would love to see her grandparents again."

"Good," Sherlock responded, satisfied. He bent over and brushed Molly's lips with his. "This is only a temporary situation, Molly. Now I suppose we should best go downstairs before Mrs. Hudson gets any ideas about what we've been up to."

He was pleased when Molly gave a short huff of laughter. "I think she's going to be disappointed actually. She does want us together, you know."

"We _are_ together, Molly. We just can't go public with it yet."

Molly's smile faded. "I know you think you're doing the right thing, but I do feel it necessary to point out to you that this is _your_ choice, not mine. I would be willing to take the risks associated with going public. I'll go along with it for now, but I can't promise that I will accept this status quo forever."

"I know," he responded. "I assure you, this situation will be resolved soon." He traced his finger lightly down her cheek then moved in for one last lingering kiss before he pulled her up from the sofa and they headed downstairs.

He spent a few minutes saying goodbye to Molly and Victoria and hailed a taxi for them. Just before they entered the taxi, he said, "I'll give my parents a ring once I get upstairs and have them call you so you can work out a time to see them, okay?"

"Okay," she responded.

He was annoyed with himself then for not thinking to give her and his daughter a farewell kiss inside the privacy of the building. He certainly could not take the chance that prying eyes (or video cameras) would be watching him. As it was, he hoped Mycroft would not find it suspicious for Sherlock to be hailing a taxi for them if he saw any video footage. He knew Sherlock and Molly were friends, so hopefully he would consider it nothing more than the actions of a friend.

Sherlock forced himself to not watch the taxi drive away, that certainly would have looked a little odd, and returned upstairs.

He immediately went to his phone which was by now fully charged and called his parents.

His mother answered on the first ring.

"Sherlock, thank God!" were her first words, then he heard her burst into tears. A moment later his father's voice came on the line.

"Your mother is a little emotional right now. We are both relieved to hear from you. Mycroft told us what happened and would not allow us to see you before your departure. We are still rather cross about your underhanded methods on Christmas Day, but I do not want to scold you about that. I'm sure you know what you did was wrong, don't you?"

Sherlock let out a deep breath. It was rare for his father to reprimand him, but he was capable of it when the need arose. "Yes, Daddy. I do apologise for my behaviour. I know that my rash actions almost resulted in you losing your son."

His father sighed. "I certainly don't want to go through losing a child again," he said, somewhat cryptically and Sherlock frowned. He could still hear his mother sobbing in the background.

"This was not like last time though, Daddy. Last time you knew I was not really dead and that I was merely going abroad to take care of Moriarty's network and to wait until my name could be cleared."

"Yes, yes, of course, you are right, Sherlock," agreed his father hastily.

Then Sherlock heard his mother say from the background, "I want to talk to my boy," and she came back on the line. "Don't ever frighten us like that again, Sherlock!" she said in a voice that was still authoritative despite being thick with the tears she had shed.

"I won't, Mummy, and I sincerely apologise for all the hurt I caused you," he said penitently. He felt ashamed of the way he had drugged his parents on Christmas day. He had made so many errors. Being human and making mistakes was not an easy thing to deal with. He didn't like being wrong.

His mother sniffled, "I should hope so." He heard her blow her nose and waited until she had finished.

"Anyway," Sherlock continued, hoping what he had to say would take his mothers mind off of his rash actions, "I wanted to call and give you Molly's phone number."

He could hear the relief in his mother's voice as she questioned, "Oh, you've decided to go public with your relationship now?"

Sherlock's fingers flexed on his phone. "Uh, not exactly. It is in the best interest of Molly and Victoria for our relationship to remain secret for now. I must unravel this latest scheme of Moriarty's first and I do not wish to risk the welfare of either of them."

"But, Sherlock, surely-" his mother began but he interrupted her.

"Please Mummy, I don't need a lecture about this. I wanted to give you Molly's number so that you can arrange some private time to spend with her and your granddaughter."

His mother gave a sigh of frustration. "Well, I suppose that is better than nothing. You are right, your father and I would very much like to see our granddaughter again and I certainly hope this Moriarty business gets sorted out quickly."

" I hope so too," said Sherlock sincerely and he proceeded to give her Molly's telephone number, then rang off.

Over the next two days, Sherlock busied himself with monitoring the web and trying to determine what underworld connection he might have missed when it came to dismantling Moriarty's network. Unfortunately he came up blank. Fortunately, the work served its purpose in getting him past the drug withdrawal period and he felt in control of himself again. It had been more difficult to control this time than when he had been using small amounts of cocaine while trying to get Magnussen's attention months earlier. He really needed to stay clean now, especially for Molly and Victoria's sake.

Mycroft called him in to a top secret meeting and he was able to see the depths of his brother's influence in finding a way to get him off the hook for Magnussen's death. It was ingenious really and didn't require a pardon.

He couldn't help feeling extremely relieved that there would be no further consequences to his actions and he knew he acted a little childishly during the meeting, but an immense burden had been lifted from his shoulders, so surely a little elation was warranted?

As soon as he returned home though, Sherlock knew he had to text Molly and inform her that this chapter, at least, was closed.

 _Molly, I wanted to let you know that everything has been settled in regard to my activities on Christmas Day._

Her answer was shortly forthcoming by way of a phone call and the sound of her sweet voice made him miss her unbearably.

"I thought this conversation would be better over the phone, rather than by text," she said by way of explanation, once they had exchanged greetings. "How did your brother manage to do that? Did you receive a pardon?"

"A pardon was unnecessary," he responded, thinking a video chat would have been much more to his liking, he longed to see her face. "Mycroft used doctored footage. Apparently I didn't fire the fatal shot. Mycroft has more power than I believed possible."

"Well, I'm glad that's all sorted out at the least. Let me know how things are going and if you make any progress in relation to Moriarty's plan."

"I will. Thanks, Molly." He had been tempted to call her sweetheart again. He ended the call and allowed himself a moment to daydream about the day when he could openly call her his sweetheart, his love, perhaps even his darling, but most of all, his wife.

They didn't speak again after that call, nor text, and he was much too busy over the next week, frantically solving cases right and left, waiting for the big one. As much as he would have liked to see Molly at her flat, he knew he didn't dare. He was all too aware that being in her presence would only distract him, and he needed to keep his focus while he waited.

His one failure at keeping his distance was on the day he was investigating the corpse of Joel Fentiman who had been strangled. The invalid lived amicably with his younger brother who looked after him and there seemed to be no motive for his death, nor any sign of an intruder in the bedsit the brothers shared.

It was Molly's casual observation about ruling out the impossible and then knowing that what remained must be the truth that got him thinking and he suddenly realised that the murderer had to be the brother, after all. He just needed to determine why. Seeing that they were alone in the morgue at the time, Sherlock ventured to thank Molly in a rather passionate way for her assistance. Their sizzling kiss left them both breathless and Sherlock knew at that moment he must not tempt himself again. He pushed himself away from her and left her standing there, rather bewildered, without explanation for his behaviour. Upon further investigation of the brother, he was able to determine unintentional homicide due to amnesia caused by heart medication.

Although Sherlock kept his distance from Molly after that, he did manage to visit Victoria when John and Mary weren't at Baker Street. John had reduced his hours at the clinic temporarily in order to vet potential cases for him and tag along when needed, much to Mary's increasing annoyance.

Sherlock wondered if his parents had spent any time with Molly and Victoria, and decided it must be so, because another week later he received a text of complaint from Mycroft.

 _Mummy and Daddy have come up to London again and insisted on staying with me. At least they have not asked me to join them for any more of their ridiculous matinees. I suppose they have come here to make sure that you are getting on okay following the events of Christmas. Try to keep them occupied and out of my way if you happen to see them._

 _Will do,_ responded Sherlock.

Much to Sherlock's pique, his parents made no effort to see him. Well, if they had tried, he would most likely have been out and about on one of his cases with John anyway. It seemed he was busier than ever. The amount of notes with case details pinned to his mantelpiece was insane.

When Mrs. Hudson opened the door to his knock on a day he was in between cases and John was putting in a full day at the clinic, Victoria came to the door as well and beamed at him with that dimpled Molly smile that made him miss the woman he loved even more acutely.

"How are you today, sweet pea?" he asked, scooping her up into his arms as usual and kissing her soft cheek.

Instead of responding to his question, she said, "I saw Gwamma and Gwampa."

"You did, did you?" he asked. "Did you have a nice time with them?"

Victoria nodded and pointed a slender finger at her neck, around which he could see a small beaded pearl necklace. "I got a pwesent," she announced proudly, and Sherlock remembered his mother saying she would bring Victoria a necklace when they visited.

He spent a little time with his daughter that day at Mrs. Hudson's flat, watching as she coloured some pictures for him. For the first time he noticed she had very long, artistic fingers, much like his own. Perhaps when she was older he might teach her the violin, he thought, then tried and failed to recall how he had learned to play the instrument himself. For a two-and-a-half-year-old, she certainly did a very good job in keeping within the lines with her crayons, and he couldn't help feeling a surge of pride that he and Molly had created such a unique, precious little human being. That thought led him to idly wonder if Molly might have conceived again. He assumed not, because she had not informed him of the fact. Oh well, it was probably just as well, he reflected, but couldn't help a little twinge of sadness pass through himself. He really did want things to be over and to move on with his life so he could be a family with Molly and Victoria and possibly expand that family.

The following day it was back to work as Sherlock and John headed out again on yet another case, despite Mary's protests that the men were working too much.

Upon their triumphant return to Baker Street later that day, John suddenly noticed an enormous number of missed calls that had come through while he and Sherlock had had their phones turned off during the investigation. Sherlock knew immediately what that meant. The Watson baby was coming early.

The men returned to John's car and headed frantically back to the Watson flat where they found Mary obviously in the middle of active labour. Despite John's attempts to proceed as quickly as possible to the hospital, baby Watson had a mind of her own and he was forced to pull over in order to deliver his daughter in the car.

Sherlock was entirely unprepared to be in the presence of a woman giving birth, and in a car, no less. From the way Mary screamed bloody murder, it sounded like an experience even worse than the torture he had endured in Serbia. The whole experience was almost as traumatic for him as it was for her, and he was relieved John had remained calm throughout when he delivered his own baby. For the first time Sherlock wondered how Molly had coped during labour. If they ever had another child, he would not let her go through it alone.

After the baby was safely delivered, and mother and daughter were transported to the hospital, John asked Sherlock to let their friends know about the birth and to not worry about visiting. Mary needed to rest and would be able to receive visitors at home in a couple days' time.

Sherlock went home and informed Mrs. Hudson of the happy news. The elderly woman was delighted. "We will have to go together to see the baby when Mary comes home then," she informed Sherlock after he explained that John had requested no visitors at the hospital.

Sherlock nodded. "Of course, Mrs. Hudson. We can do that the day after tomorrow. I will have to take a short break from my work while John adjusts to becoming a father anyway, or at least, I shall have to manage on my own for awhile."

He went upstairs and texted Molly with the news, and the fact that he had been present at the birth of the baby girl and how traumatic it had been for him

He was put in his place by her answering text a few minutes later.

 _Oh, for goodness sake, Sherlock, it's not all about you, you know. Mary is the one who had to endure childbirth without any pain medication. Giving birth is no picnic. Which hospital are they at? I would like to visit._

Sherlock flushed at her words. She was right, of course.

 _John has requested that we wait until Mary is home from the hospital in a couple days' time. I'm sure you can understand she is extremely weary right now._

 _Oh, of course,_ " was Molly's response.

Somewhat to his surprise she added another text.

 _Thank you for giving your parents my number. I suppose you know they are in town at the moment? They have visited Victoria and myself twice and are getting along famously with her. They told me they will be here for another few days, so I will just see if they can watch Victoria when I go to visit the new baby. What is her name, by the way?_

 _John and Mary have not come to a consensus about that as yet,_ he responded.

Molly asked a couple more questions about the baby with Sherlock trying to answer as best he could.

The next time they were in one another's presence was two days later at the Watsons' flat.

* * *

 **Author's note:** Ok, a little foreshadowing here for Sherrinford with that comment by Sherlock's father about losing a child. Did you notice it? I hadn't initially written any more of Sherlock's parents into this story, but during revisions I thought it would be nice to include them more, seeing as they are privy to Sherlock's secret.

So, Sherlock's intentions are good here, but I know, he's acting like an idiot in avoiding Molly. How do you think Molly is feeling about things?

Thanks **comp1mom** for her comment about wanting to "see" Victoria more. I hope everyone enjoyed the additional description I provided for her!


	26. Three Weeks Earlier

**Special Note before you read further:** Sorry if it seems like I am repeating myself here. After having another run in with someone who questioned my portrayal of Molly as a Christian who makes mistakes as sending the wrong message and trying to make what is wrong right just to gain fans, I want to make my own position as the author clear.

 **Point one:** This is Sherlock's dream, not the "reality" of my characters, so to begin with, the story is not intended to be some huge debate on the ethics of showing a Christian who doesn't always follow the teaching of the Bible to the letter. I don't always focus on the Christianity aspect of things in my stories. Sometimes I choose to write things that are just written to be enjoyed, romantic stories of Sherlock and Molly falling in love and getting together, just like every other writer in the Sherlolly fandom. Neither the dream Molly nor the "real" one is above temptation and succumbing to it in these stories.

 **Point two:** When I write Molly as trying to justify her actions that go contrary to what the Bible teaches on abstinence, I am not advocating it at all, nor am I saying that it is okay for others to "go and do likewise." She is allowing her heart and human desires to become her focus. I have said it before in stories and on my profile that as a Christian, it is my belief that the Bible teaches us to save sex for the covenant of marriage, where it can be fully enjoyed as an expression of the love and devotion between a man and woman. God designed it, and it is a beautiful act when shared within the covenant of marriage, not at all shameful or something that is dirty. I try to walk a very fine line in describing the act of intimacy in a loving manner without going too far. There may be times where I go a little outside of someone's comfort zone because we all have our own notions on what should and shouldn't be described. My M-rated stories delve a little more into that area and are labelled as such so the reader must determine if they wish to read them or not. Obviously my wedding night and honeymoon stories especially are labeled as such because Sherlock and Molly are enjoying that intimacy for the first time and now they have God's blessing upon it. Even in the honeymoon story it isn't all about sex, it is also about their continued exploration of one another's past experiences and sharing more with one another outside of the bedroom as well.

Do all Christians act perfectly and uphold their values? Of course not. My _Journey_ Molly and Sherlock chose to share a bed before marriage. Do I recommend that? Certainly not, it just adds more temptation to stray from the path of abstinence. Just because Molly does things like this and I portray her as a Christian, I don't want people to confuse the issue as me, the author condoning it. Honestly, I do not know how to make this more clear except to stop writing altogether and remove all my stories if I am presenting the wrong message to people about Christians.

 **Point three:** I also do not wish people who are not Christians to think I stand in judgment about their own choices on sexual matters. I don't expect people who do not follow the Bible to feel the same way about things as I do. I do believe in repentance, forgiveness, and redemption. If you feel God is calling to you to learn more, pm me, seek out other Christians, read the Bible or find a church.

 **Point four:** Contrary to what my detractor said to me, I do not write to gain fans. If that were the case, I would not be writing anything with spiritual content that keeps the majority of people well away from them. To be perfectly frank, if that was my goal, I would follow the world view on sex and write all the smut that seems to be the most popular type of story, stories of sex with no regrets or consequences. I believe I have a gift for writing and I believe I am still improving. I try to write with sensitivity, intelligence and care. I research, I try to use correct grammar. If you see errors, they are likely as a result of my legal blindness which means I often miss little things like misplaced capital letters or punctuation. I correct any mistakes I find or that are pointed out to me. In the end, I write what I would want to read myself. If other people want to read it, of course, that pleases me greatly and I am delighted to hear from you to know that you enjoy it. Who doesn't like a nod of approval over something on which they have toiled for many hours without any monetary compensation? I deeply value those of you who are the nurturers of my writing and creativity with your frequent words of encouragement on my chapters, you are blessings to me and I thank you from the bottom of my heart. If I ever get to publish my own original work, you are the ones I will be acknowledging for keeping me going when I've been feeling discouraged and ready to quit this labour of love.

With that being said, I hope I will not have to continue to try and provide justification for my writing, and being told I will be "held accountable" for writing some stories that do not promote Christian values, when the majority of them do promote these things strongly. I would like to continue enjoying this gift God has given me and sharing it with others without feeling people are thinking I am detracting from the Word of God rather than upholding it.

 **Luke 6:37 NIV** says, "Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven."

That says it all.

* * *

Molly was finding it difficult to focus on her work. Every time she looked into the microscope to view the sample she was examining, the image blurred, not because the magnification was out of focus, but because her eyes kept filling with tears and splashing on the lens. She wondered whether Sherlock had already left, if even now he was being taken to his final destination.

Molly pulled back from the microscope and wiped the lens for the third time with the tissue. It was fortunate nobody else was with her in the lab that day. She was a complete mess. She decided to take a break and was just heading out of the lab to get a drink when she saw an image appear on a television screen in the corner. She recognised that face. It was Jim, or rather, James Moriarty, and her blood ran cold.

The cheery image was menacing, in her opinion, and the words, "MISS ME?" were transcribed at the bottom of the image which had poorly executed moving lips on his face. Obviously there was an ingenious computer hacker out there, she discovered soon afterwards as word spread through the hospital that the image was displayed on every single television screen. The poor photo manipulation left something to be desired, however.

Molly's thoughts were in a whirl as she tried to go back to work. Who could have done such a thing and why? Did Moriarty have a twin who had decided to come back and menace Sherlock? If so, it was a bit late for that. By now he was most certainly on his way to wherever it was Mycroft was sending him.

She had managed to finally get some work done and was looking at another tissue sample when she vaguely heard the sound of her phone's text alert going off in her pocket. It was probably Mary, texting to let her know Sherlock was gone, she thought. She made a couple notes about her findings then pulled out her phone.

Her heart jumped when she saw the text was not from Mary. It was Sherlock.

 _Molly, it's me. It looks like your former boyfriend has been instrumental in saving me from exile._

A huge wave of relief washed over her. Sherlock was still inLondon. Then her lips tightened at the flippant words about her "boyfriend."

With fingers that trembled with her haste to respond, she texted him back.

As she waited for his response, watching the three little dots that indicated it would shortly be forthcoming, she said a silent prayer, thanking God. God had heard and answered her, even while she had been feeling abandoned. She should have trusted Him.

Molly's heart lightened when Sherlock said to come and see him at Baker Street after work, and she couldn't help ending their conversation with what she was feeling in her heart about the turn of events.

 _Alright. I guess God answered my prayers after all. I should never have doubted Him._

The rest of the day seemed to move impossibly slowly, but finally it was over and Molly made her way to Baker Street.

Sherlock's response to seeing her was highly satisfactory when he opened the door before she could even knock. She had thought to never feel those lips again and she wanted to do nothing more than lose herself in his embrace, but she definitely did not want a repeat of what had happened before Christmas. She needed to know what was going on.

After his explanation, Molly was both relieved and disappointed. She was relieved that Sherlock would not be leaving after all, of course, and that he seemed confident his brother would find a way to exonerate him for what he had done, but she was also disappointed that Sherlock was firm about wishing to protect Victoria and herself. When would this all end? If she could accept the risks of his profession in having a public relationship, why couldn't he?

Then she wondered to herself whether she was merely being selfish. There was Victoria to consider, and she knew Sherlock's desire to protect his daughter was foremost in his thoughts. His child was innocent and had no way of protecting herself against someone who wished for revenge. However, Molly still felt in her heart that God would protect them. Of course, it wouldn't do to tell that to Sherlock, seeing as he still seemed ambivalent as to whether God even existed.

So, it seemed the roller coaster ride would continue. One small consolation in all this was his suggestion that Victoria get to know her grandparents better. That certainly implied he was thinking ahead.

Over the next couple of weeks, Molly only saw Sherlock once. The steamy kiss they shared in the lab certainly seemed to indicate his feelings hadn't changed about her, but the way he pushed her from him afterwards left her rather confused and she wondered if he was deliberately avoiding her by not coming to the lab to do any of the work he often did there on cases, preferring the lab's superior microscopes to his own. He was not avoiding his daughter at least. Victoria was only too happy to inform her when her daddy had been for a visit with her and Nanny. Mrs. Hudson also informed her that Sherlock was constantly on the go, usually in the presence of John and that Mary was also frequenting the flat.

There was one other highlight over those two weeks though. Sherlock's mother had called and they had spoken briefly. Arrangements were made for the Holmes parents to stay with their older son while they spent some time in London, ostensibly seeing various shows, but also visiting Molly and their granddaughter afterwards.

On the first visit, Molly opened the flat door to see Sherlock's parents smiling at her, and she was startled to notice just how much Violet Holmes's eyes bore the same changeable colour as those of Sherlock and Victoria.

"Hello dear, it's so nice to see you again," said Mrs. Holmes as she entered with her husband upon Molly's invitation.

"It's nice to see you too Mrs. Holmes, Mr. Holmes," responded Molly nodding at both of them, even as Victoria got down from the chair on which she had been sitting while looking at a picture book.

"Violet and William, please," said the older woman kindly, "and I hope you will allow us to call you Molly."

"Of course," responded Molly, even as Violet opened her arms to her granddaughter who, having been told of their impending visit, was only too happy to be lifted into her arms.

"Gwamma!" she exclaimed happily, immediately reaching her fingers towards her grandmother's necklace.

Mrs. Holmes kissed the top of her head and said, "I haven't forgotten, dear one. Grandma and Grandpa have brought you a present." She tilted her head towards her husband. "It's in Grandpa's pocket."

Molly smiled as Victoria immediately set her gaze on her grandfather and extended her hand. "Pwesent?"

William Holmes extracted a rather bulky square, wrapped object from his trouser pocket and held it out to her with an indulgent smile. "Here's a Christmas present for you, just a little late."

Victoria took the package with eager fingers, saying, "Mummy, help."

Molly moved to stand beside her daughter and helped her take off the wrapping paper. Beneath was a black square box with a hinged lid. She helped Victoria to open it and almost gasped in surprise.

Inside the box was a perfect little strand of pearls, obviously designed for a child's neck.

Victoria was bouncing up and down in her grandmother's arms in her exuberance at the sight. "Put on, Mummy!" she demanded in her excitement and Molly lifted out the necklace gently. She couldn't be certain of course, but she had a feeling the pearls were genuine. Sherlock's parents, although not in anyway superior in their manner, seemed to exude the casual confidence that comes with having wealth. In addition, from what Sherlock had told her of his parents' house in Sussex, she was quite certain the value of it was far more than what the average working-class person could afford. Molly had not really noticed the first time, being too discombobulated by the fact that Sherlock had been willing to disclose his relationship with her to his parents and that they shared a child.

Molly opened the clasp and placed the pearls around Victoria's neck. They were probably meant for a child who was a little older, because they were a little long, but Molly knew Victoria would grow into them.

Victoria herself bubbled with enthusiasm as she slid her fingers along the circular pearls, feeling their smoothness. She then hugged her grandmother before struggling to get down and Violet set her carefully down. "Wanna see," she told Molly who took her into her bedroom to look at her pearls in the mirror.

"Pwetty!" declared Victoria, beaming at her image in the reflection of the mirror.

"You must thank your grandma and grandpa," Molly told her as they returned to the front room where the Holmes parents had seated themselves on the sofa.

"Thank you Gwamma, thank you Gwampa," she said, going up to each of her grandparents intern and climbing onto their laps for a hug.

Mrs. Holmes looked over at Molly. "We would have bought something for you too dear, but it seems our _son_ still wishes to keep certain things private for now."

Molly knew by the careful way in which the older woman spoke that she knew Sherlock was still determined to keep things secret, but did not wish to say so in so many words in front of Victoria.

Unexpectedly, the woman added, "I hope you know that I do not approve of this. I would like nothing more than to be able to visit with you as often as possible, but for now we must do as Sherlock wishes."

Molly nodded. "It's okay Mrs. I mean Violet," she said hastily. "I was a little upset at first, but I know his intentions are good and that he only wants what's best for Victoria and myself. Hopefully things will be sorted out soon."

"We hope so too," put in William Holmes with a genuine smile at Molly, even as Victoria hopped back off his lap. "We would like to see our son settled with a family of his own."

His words brought back to mind something Molly had been trying to push out of her thoughts. Her period was two weeks late. She knew it could be due to the stress of everything that had occurred over Christmas, but there was always the possibility that she was carrying Sherlock's child, and she wondered what his parents would think if they knew. If her period didn't come in the next week, she knew she was going to have to face things and take a pregnancy test.

She roused herself from her momentary reverie and focussed on Violet Holmes's words. The elderly woman was talking to her granddaughter. "Would you like Grandma to read a book to you?"

"Yes, please," answered Victoria. "Magic Twee, please."

Violet homes looked at Molly questioningly and she explained. "I have begun reading _The Magic Faraway Tree_ to Victoria. I have quite a collection of the Enid Blyton children's books."

Mrs. Holmes beamed at that. "Oh yes, Sherlock and his-" She hesitated then continued," Sherlock loved those stories as a boy."

Molly couldn't help wondering what she had been about to say, perhaps Mycroft had been a big Enid Blyton fan as well, although she couldn't imagine the older homes having any interest in the stories of that nature. Anyway, it was another thing for her to remember that Sherlock was also familiar with the stories.

For the next hour, the Holmes grandparents spent time with Victoria, first reading to her and then helping her with a puzzle, and Molly's heart swelled with pride and happiness at her clever little daughter and the way she had bonded so quickly with Sherlock's parents.

A couple days later, Molly was quite surprised to receive a text from Sherlock. It was the first time he had texted her since their conversation where he had explained how Mycroft had succeeded in covering up the truth of what happened on Christmas Day. His parents had only departed a few minutes earlier, having spent another couple of hours getting to know their grandchild.

When Molly read the unexpected text, she rolled her eyes.

 _I wanted to let you know Mary has had her baby, a little girl. To backtrack, John and I were out on a case today and had our phones turned off, missing quite a number of calls. We did proceed to pick up Mary as quickly as possible, but in hindsight, I suppose we should have called an ambulance instead. As a result, I have been subjected to the ignominious honour of watching Mary screaming bloody murder and a baby appearing from between her legs in John's car. In fact, I may never recover from the trauma._

That was so typical of Sherlock, she thought. All he had considered was how the birth made _him_ feel. She was a little short with him during her return text.

Even as she asked the name of the hospital so she could visit, she thought regretfully that if Sherlock had texted only a few minutes earlier, she could have just left Victoria with her grandparents and headed to the hospital. She needn't have worried though, because I Sherlock's response was to say that Mary was not up to visitors and it would be best to see them once she had returned home.

Upon his recommendation for visiting in two days' time instead, Molly agreed and thought she would just ask Sherlock's parents if they would mind looking after Victoria on that day instead. She decided to let Sherlock know as well that his parents were spending time with their granddaughter. Presumably he knew anyway. She also asked the baby's name, but apparently no decision had been made on that yet.

After the text conversation ended, Molly realised Sherlock must have been unaware that she already knew John and Mary were having a girl and had even provided some baby clothes in preparation for their impending arrival.

She called the phone number Violet Holmes had given her and asked if they would be okay with looking after Victoria when she went to visit the newborn in a couple day's time. She was not surprised when the older woman readily agreed. Molly was pleased, at least that solved the problem of Victoria being around John. She figured that Mrs. Hudson would be wanting to visit the new baby as well which meant that asking for her assistance in babysitting would have been unhelpful.

Molly looked over at Victoria who had been sitting on the sofa, watching a cartoon. Her head was lolling forward one moment, jerking back the next. It was time to put her to bed. Briefly, she contemplated telling her daughter about the new baby, but decided against it, knowing Victoria would undoubtedly want to see the baby herself. That meeting would have to wait until such time as Sherlock revealed himself to be Victoria's father, or a time when John was not around. Molly could not help still feeling upset and apprehensive about the secrecy with regard to John. But she had to respect Sherlock's wishes and just pray that things would be resolved soon. At least she felt close to God once again and confident that her life was in His hands, whatever happened.

Molly put Victoria to bed and then headed off to shower, pulling the locket out from beneath her blouse where she always wore it and taking it off before stepping into the shower stream. After her shower, she dried herself off and put the locket around her neck again, after quickly taking a peek inside it as she always did.

She looked at the picture of the man she loved and the one of her daughter and was reminded once again that her period had still not come. Well, she wasn't going to think about that until after she had seen the Watson baby. She wasn't ready to tell Sherlock she was pregnant again, and if she took a test and it was positive, she would feel impelled to inform him. At least this way, she didn't know for sure, despite the fact that she was beginning to feel quite certain she knew what the result would be.

Two days later, as arranged, Molly left Victoria in the care of Sherlock's parents and made her way to the Watsons' flat to see the new baby. She was rather excited at the prospect. Sherlock had told her during their text conversation two days earlier that the baby had weighed in at a mere six pounds, being almost a month early, so she wasn't sure if Mary would allow her to hold the infant, but hoped to do so anyway.

As she rode in the taxi, Molly placed a hand on her abdomen and wondered again if there was another new life growing within her. At this point, with the way Sherlock had been avoiding her lately, she wasn't certain how he would react to the news if and when the time came for her to let him know he was going to be a father again.

Upon arrival, she was greeted by John who informed her that Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson had arrived a few minutes earlier. Molly glanced over toward Sherlock who was busily texting and didn't even seem to have noticed her arrival. Apparently he was still very much involved in doing his work. Mrs. Hudson however greeted her with a smile and a wave.

"I've brought my camera," she informed Molly, who accepted a glass of celebratory wine from John and then made a show of taking a sip, while keeping her mouth closed. There was no way she was going to take a chance on drinking alcohol if she was pregnant.

Molly assisted Mrs. Hudson in taking some photos. The elderly woman was obviously not used to modern digital cameras.

The first words Molly heard Sherlock say was after Mrs. Hudson questioned John and Mary about a name for the baby. When John responded that they were thinking about the name Catherine, Mary refuted it, saying they had gone off that.

That was when Molly heard Sherlock say, "You know what I think."

When John and Mary said in unison, "It's not a girl's name," Molly had the feeling that Sherlock had been trying to promote the merits of his own name and was rather amused at the way Sherlock flashed a quick smile. It was too bad he continued to not look at her.

A few moments later, Molly was floored but very honoured when she, in addition to Mrs. Hudson, was asked to be godmother to the baby. She was determined to be the best godmother possible to the child and provide a loving Christian example.

Molly was very disappointed however when Sherlock was asked to be godfather and he spouted some nonsense about God being a ludicrous fiction. She had thought him to be making some progress when it came to believing in God, but it seemed she was wrong about that. What felt like a heavy stone settled in the pit of her stomach.

Molly stayed for a little longer, and was given the opportunity to hold the baby, but when she left without Sherlock doing more than lifting his eyes briefly from his _precious_ phone and giving her an off-hand, "Oh, hello, Molly," as if he had not noticed her the whole time she had been there, and they were nothing more than casual acquaintances, she felt like bursting into tears.

She managed to hold it together though. She took a taxi home, thanked Sherlock's parents for watching Victoria and prepared dinner for her daughter and herself once they had departed. After dinner, for the first time she felt a wave of nausea that prompted her to empty the contents of her dinner into the toilet. There was very little doubt in her mind now.

Once Victoria was tucked in bed, Molly extracted the pregnancy test which she had purchased a few days earlier from a chemist near the hospital.

A few minutes later she had the answer, loud and clear. A strong pink line ran parallel to the test one. The was no longer any doubt.

As she settled herself in bed and looked over at the photo frame holding the smiling images of a younger Sherlock and herself on her bedside table as usual before closing her eyes, Molly knew she was going to have to break the news to him that she was pregnant. The problem was - when?

* * *

 **Author's note:** I hope you didn't find the transition to Molly's POV too jarring. I really wanted to address how she was feeling over this time period as well and felt the best way to do it was to chronologically time it through the same period as that of the last chapter. In fact, this is a completely new chapter that I have added. It is part of my revision process to carefully look at the original content which was written a year ago, and I felt I wanted to provide more context around what is happening, as well as showing Molly's side of things. I didn't want to write the whole thing as a reflection with a whole bunch of "had" and "she had had" because it becomes too confusing.

There is an oblique reference back to my original _Journey_ story here with the Enid Blyton mention, in which there is a Eurus connection to the book Molly is reading to Victoria. If you haven't read that story of mine, I just want to make mention, because it is another tiny foreshadowing of things to come when Violet almost mentioned the word "sister."

So, are you surprised about Molly being pregnant this time or were you expecting it?

Do you agree that Mary was the instigator behind both Sherlock and Molly being asked to be godparents? Do you feel, as I do, that she was definitely pro-Sherlolly?


	27. A Light at the End of the Tunnel

**Author's note:** Just letting my readers know this chapter starts where the last Sherlock POV left off, a little earlier than the point to which we reached in the last chapter with Molly. Please excuse me if you find it a little confusing. I really wanted to show things from Sherlock's POV as well, and my regular readers know I prefer to do chapters using one person's POV. That means at times I like to go back in time a little if I want to show the thoughts of both characters.

* * *

When Sherlock arrived at the Watsons with Mrs. Hudson, he stood back and allowed the elderly woman to fawn over the baby. He'd already seen her, after all.

"Drink, Sherlock?" John asked.

"No, thank you," he responded. With John not helping him out at the moment, it was incumbent upon himself to continue his investigations alone. He was still keeping busy, trying too not get too impatient for Moriarty's scheme to come to light, but it was becoming very frustrating. He had felt sure there would have been something concrete by now. He was also frustrated that he was unable to move on with his life with Molly. He missed her terribly, but staying away from her was the only way he could think of to prevent himself from revealing to all and sundry how much he loved her.

When the knock sounded on the door, he knew it was Molly and studiously returned his attention to his phone. He could not afford to look at her or the truth might be revealed in his eyes. He only ventured a quick glance at her when she was helping Mrs. Hudson with her camera. She had pulled her hair to one side and she looked so beautiful he had to remind himself not to stare at her as his heartbeat accelerated and he felt the way his body craved her. He gritted his teeth, willing away that desperate longing that always consumed him when she was close, concentrating furiously on his texting.

As he sent texts regarding his latest case, he listened with half an ear to the conversation, putting in his own two cents about a name, just to prove he was paying attention.

He wasn't at all surprised that they asked Molly to be godmother. They could not have made a better choice, he thought, even as Mrs. Hudson too expressed delight at also being asked.

He was, however, extremely surprised to be asked to be godfather. John knew what he had said about God during his wedding reception. To make it very clear, and to test whether John would change his mind, he rattled off his usual disclaimer of belief, even if he didn't feel quite the same about things as in the past. In fact, he thought by now that he _might_ believe in God, thanks to Molly's passionate declarations about her faith and the fact that her prayers seemed to always be answered. He had also been saved from certain death on several occasions at this point. It did seem to be becoming increasingly obvious that some kind of higher power was dictating things. He sent off a text to arrest the brother-in-law in the case he was working on. An absurdly easy one, hardly worth his time, let these little cases did provide at least some distraction. He immediately shifted to the next one, just as easy.

Nonetheless, John did not seemed fazed by his automatic response, merely trying to tempt him with cake. Well, he did have a weakness for a decent piece of chocolate cake, but that was hardly a reason to accept the offer. However, he did deign to respond with, "I'll get back to you."

After that, he decided he should at least acknowledge Molly's presence or he was sure he would never hear the end of it from Mrs. Hudson.

He lifted his eyes briefly from his phone and turned his head in her direction, not daring to quite look at her again. He had only just managed to get his heartbeat back to normal as it was. "Oh, hello Molly," he remarked casually.

"Hello, Sherlock," she said softly in her musical voice, and he had to steel himself against the urge to stride over to her, take her in his arms and kiss her breathless in front of everybody.

He was both relieved and disappointed when she took her leave, remarking she had to get home to the babysitters. A slip-up there, saying the plural rather than singular. He knew it must be his parents looking after Victoria. Fortunately, John and Mary didn't seem to notice, but merely thanked her for coming over. Sherlock again didn't dare to look up as she left, but suddenly, he had had enough of the happy family bonding over their baby. It made him think too much about how he wished it could be Molly and himself, spending time with their daughter, or even another baby of their own in a few months time.

Apparently Molly was not pregnant anyway. He'd observed lipstick on a wine glass that had to have been hers. Sherlock also felt sure she would have told him if she was pregnant, just as she had texted him last time to say she wasn't. Curiously though, this time she had not even bothered to let him know. Perhaps she sensed his avoidance and thought it best to keep her distance. A twinge of regret settled in his stomach like a stone that there was no baby on the way, although he supposed he should be glad about that, given their current circumstances.

Sherlock sat in morose silence on the taxi ride home. He was finished with his case and was just staring out the window wondering how much longer it would be until he could move on with his life. How long would Molly be willing to wait for him? Perhaps she would decide he wasn't worth the effort. Another pregnancy would surely have kept her willing to stay with him, but that seemed unlikely now. God only knew if she would even want to sleep with him again at this point.

He slumped down in his seat further as Mrs. Hudson, who was sitting next to him asked in a concerned tone, "What's wrong, dear? You look worn out. You've been working too hard, haven't you? Burning the midnight oil and all that?"

"Something like that," he agreed, unwilling to bare his soul to his landlady. She would just tell him he was an idiot, just as his parents thought. Maybe he was.

The christening of Baby Watson was arranged in what Sherlock thought was undue haste for only a month later, but he finally agreed to be godfather. John had assured him it didn't actually require him to do anything in a legal sense. He would stand in front of the church with Molly and Mrs. Hudson and say some phrase of affirmation at the appropriate time.

By the day of the christening, Sherlock was feeling even more frustrated. There was still no sign of the blasted plan for revenge Moriarty had for him, and he began to wonder if there was no plan at all. Perhaps he was supposed to live the rest of his life worrying about it and keeping his personal life on hold as a result. If that was the case, it was certainly a good plan, or lack thereof. He was still trying to keep busy, working on even more cases, alone this time, still not talking to Molly and barely getting to see his daughter due to the extra effort involved in working alone.

He only arrived just in time for the church service, and was still furiously sending texts back and forth on his current case when the godparents were summoned to the front of the church for the christening. For the first time, Sherlock noticed how exquisite Molly looked, but then, she always did. The floral print dress she wore had a matching red band that wrapped around her head. Her hair was up, obviously done by a professional.

Instead of paying attention to the words of the priest, Sherlock continued to text. He was trying very hard to not think impure thoughts about Molly. When the priest asked for the name of the baby and Mary responded with "Rosamund Mary," Sherlock looked up briefly in surprise.

"Rosamund?" he queried.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Molly turn to him and say, "Means 'rose of the world', Rosie for short." There was a definite note of disapproval in her voice as she added, "Didn't you get John's text?"

Sherlock still avoided looking at her eyes as he responded, "No, I delete his texts. I delete every text that begins with the word, 'hi'."

Now there was a definite note of sarcasm in her sweet, gentle voice when she uttered, "No idea why people think you're incapable of human emotion," and he knew she was hurting at his recent treatment of her.

The clearing of Mrs. Hudson's throat prompted Molly to hiss, "Phone," and Sherlock placed the phone behind his back, continuing to text backwards.

The priest said something to which he was supposed to respond and Molly nudged him so his thumb hit the button that activated Siri. It was embarrassing, but in a way funny, because Siri expressed exactly what he was thinking. "Sorry I didn't catch that. Please repeat the question."

After that embarrassing moment, Sherlock pocketed his phone and did his duty.

As the service continued, sherlock realised things couldn't go on this way with Molly. He'd missed her terribly. He needed to talk with her, reassure himself she wasn't losing interest in him due to his recent behaviour. Sherlock suddenly noticed his daughter's absence as well and wondered if his parents were watching her again. He decided to ask once they went to the Watsons for the post christening celebration and had an idea.

As soon as the church service had concluded, Sherlock pulled Molly aside and asked,"Do you want to share a taxi back to John and Mary's?" He held his breath, hoping she wouldn't rebuff him. Fortunately, she didn't.

"Okay," she agreed, biting her lip. She seemed a little nervous somehow and Sherlock wondered if their prolonged separation was affecting her as much as it was affecting him.

As they rode in the taxi, Sherlock started the conversation by asking casually, "So, where is Victoria today?"

"My friend Kayla is babysitting her. She's a nursery school teacher, good with kids."

" I see," he responded. Apparently his parents were not in town at this moment, in that case. He didn't know what to talk about after that or where could he begin.

Suddenly, Molly burst out with, "Why have you been avoiding me, Sherlock? And why haven't you even seen Victoria this past week? She has been worried that something has happened to you. I told her you were just busy, but she is terrified that you will leave her again."

Sherlock could feel his hands curl into fists. "I'm sorry, Molly. I've been doing whatever I can to keep myself busy. This whole situation is taking much longer than I expected. With John being too busy to work with me, I've been burning the candle at both ends. I know I need to slow down and just wait, but waiting isn't in my nature. I just wish I knew what the hell was going on with that damned video message."

"So you haven't changed your mind about me, about us?" she asked and he looked over at her, seeing the apprehension in her eyes.

"God no, Molly!" he exclaimed, uncurling his fists and impulsively reaching over to take one cold hand in both of his. "You know how you affect me. It's just easier for me to keep my distance from you right now. I don't want to lose focus and miss any clues about what's coming." Then he added honestly, "Of course, at this juncture I am beginning to wonder whether anything is coming at all."

"Sherlock," she began and he could hear a serious note in her voice, "there's something I-" She didn't get to finish because at that moment the taxi pulled over to the kerb. They had reached their destination.

"What is it, Molly?" he urged as she made to open the car door.

"it can wait," she responded, opening the door and getting out. Sherlock followed on his own side and they went into the Watson flat together. John and Mary, who had taken Mrs. Hudson with them, were already there with Rosie.

Sherlock had been expecting to see other guests, but apparently this was to be a private party with only godparents and parents.

For the next hour, Sherlock observed Molly playing with the baby, acting as if she didn't have a care in the world. He also noticed when she excused herself froom the room shortly after eating a piece of the horrid fruit cake. So much for chocolate. He _hated_ fruit cake. Her glass of wine lay untouched, and he heard her request a glass of orange juice instead, citing an upset stomach.

When John left the room to take the baby to her room for a nap, and Mary and Mrs. Hudson were chatting in the kitchen, Sherlock sat beside Molly on the sofa. "What were you going to tell me earlier?" he asked softly.

Molly swallowed and gave him a decidedly nervous look he was unable to interpret. "Uh, Sherlock, I need to show you something."

He looked at her curiously. "What?"

She picked up her handbag and rummaged in it for a few seconds then pulled out a clear plastic bag with something in it. There was some long white plastic thing in the bag. He looked at her questioningly. "What in heck is that?"

She glanced towards the kitchen and the direction of the bedroom to make sure nobody was about to reappear, then whispered in his ear, "I didn't know you wouldn't have a clue what it is."

He saw something on the long stick and two pink lines along it.

She thrust the plastic bag back into her handbag. "I...I don't know how you are going to feel about this, given our current situation-"

Suddenly he understood and his eyes widened. It all made sense. Not drinking the wine, Molly excusing herself suddenly after eating cake. "You _are_ pregnant," he stated, feeling something like excitement run through his body. This was what he had been hoping for, a way to keep Molly from leaving him in disgust over his behaviour towards her. Then his brow furrowed. "But why didn't you tell me before? You would already have been pregnant on the day I last saw you, when we were visiting Rosie just after she was born."

Molly licked her lips. "I was putting it off, taking the test I mean. At first I thought it could be stress, but after that day, once your parents left after babysitting Victoria, I was sick and I knew I had to face the truth."

"That was a month ago, Molly," he pointed out, keeping his voice low and steady. He did feel a little hurt she had kept it from him for a month. "You should have told me."

She nodded miserably and he could see she was blinking back tears. "I know, and I'm sorry. I'm aware that things have changed between us since we last discussed the possibility of having a baby, but it's okay. You don't have to have anything to do with this. I can manage alone. I did it last time."

He looked at her in consternation. "How could you think I'd let you go through it alone? If I had gone to eastern Europe on that one-way mission you wouldn't have had a choice, and that's my fault for being an overconfident arse. But I'm here now and I will be there for you this time." He didn't know whether to be mad at Molly for thinking him so unfeeling he would abandon her when she needed him, or to be worried about where they were going to go from here, now that he knew he was to be a father again.

He didn't have time to reflect on things further though as John returned, and the other ladies also entered the room. Sherlock suddenly felt he needed to go. He needed to be alone to process things in his mind palace. This news from Molly required further reflection. "Mrs. Hudson, would you like to share a taxi with me? I need to get back to my work."

"Yes, dear, the little lamb is sleeping anyway. I'll come," the elderly woman agreed.

With brief goodbyes to John, Mary and Molly, giving the latter a meaningful look and brief squeeze of the hand, he and Mrs. Hudson were soon on their way back to Baker Street.

Tow days passed, days in which Sherlock worked on small client consultations as he mulled over his situation with Molly in the back of his mind. As soon as he had time to properly think about things, he would do so.

The opportunity arose finally on Wednesday, when Sherlock found himself temporarily babysitting young Rosamund as the baby's parents slept, exhausted, on his sofa. It was a decidedly eye-opening experience. For some incomprehensible reason, she kept reaching for her rattle, then throwing it as soon as he handed it to her. She was definitely well advanced for her age and he wondered where she had inherited the skill. Probably her mother, he guessed. He reflected on how he would be as a father of a newborn. He didn't want to miss out on those moments this time, but would he be a rubbish father? He supposed he was doing okay with Victoria, but she was older now and not completely dependent as a baby would be on his or her parents.

Sherlock wondered idly if he'd have a son or another daughter. It might be nice to have a daughter who would be close in age to Rosie, but a son, well, that would probably delight his parents, not that they could be told right now.

 _How am I going to deal with this pregnancy?_ he wondered. _Do I wait for Moriarty's endgame to be implemented or do I forget about him and move on with the long term plans with Molly that I've put off?_

As soon as Rosie had dropped off to sleep, Sherlock walked over to his chair and closed his eyes, steepling his fingers beneath his chin as he entered his mind palace. He went through all the possible ramifications of announcing his relationship with Molly at this time and declaring himself to be the father of her daughter and unborn child. The idea was tempting. He desperately wanted to just throw caution to the wind and follow his heart. However, now that Molly was pregnant again, he had three lives to protect rather than two, which complicated matters even further than they had been before.

In the end he made a decision. He would wait one more month. If, after that time, there was still no sign of anything on the horizon that indicated Moriarty's plan for revenge was likely to be implemented, he would propose to Molly, marry her as quickly as possible and to hell with the consequences. He'd move out of London if he had to. For now though, it was probably best that Molly not tell anyone about her pregnancy. By the time she was showing the obvious physical signs of pregnancy, all would be resolved, one way or another.

Yes, he decided. That would be best. Molly could just keep her pregnancy a secret for now and he'd acknowledge both this baby and their daughter in a month or less. He sent her a text.

 _Molly, we need to discuss our current situation. I needed a couple days to process things and I apologise for my silence in the meantime."_

He didn't have to wait long for a response. _I understand that you needed time to deal with things, I expected that, but don't you think it would be best to do it in person? It would be good for Victoria to see you too so you can reassure her that you aren't going anywhere._

Sherlock couldn't help the surge of anticipation that ran through him. Suddenly he wanted to see Molly desperately, to reassure her and himself that things were going to be fine between them. He was glad she was making the invitation to come and see her.

 _I concur. I'll be over tonight, once John and Mary have had a chance to sleep. I am discovering it is not easy to take care of a baby._

He could almost hear the chuckle in her voice as she responded with her text.

 _You ain't seen nothing yet, Sherlock. Wait until she starts teething. Text me when you are on your way._

 _Will do,_ he responded.

A smile crossed his lips as he set down his phone. Tonight he would see Molly again. Tonight he would reassure her that everything would be over soon one way or another. For the first time in several weeks, since Christmas Day in fact, he felt hope for their future.

* * *

 **Author's note:** For readers who may not be familiar with my wider universe for these characters, the friend Molly mentions who is babysitting Victoria on the day if the christening is her friend Kayla who is an OC I created for my initial story who continues to appear frequently in my other continuing stories. So, it is not an odd thing that the real Sherlock would insert her into this dream. At this point, he knows her quite well as a friend.

So, Sherlock now knows Molly is pregnant. What do you think of his plan to have her keep her pregnancy a secret for awhile? How do you think Molly is going to react to that?

It only takes a few moments to share your thoughts, and it costs you only a fraction of the time it takes to read. Go on, make my day - guest reviews also gladly accepted!


	28. Playing the Waiting Game

Molly waited anxiously to hear from Sherlock. Even as she gave Victoria her bath and got her into her sleepsuit, she thought about the events of the past month, since she had confirmed her pregnancy with that test.

With such momentous news, Molly had decided she did not want to just text Sherlock about it, and she waited for an opportunity to talk with him in person. That opportunity never came. He continued to avoid her at the hospital, and she thought despairingly that perhaps he no longer cared for her. After all, he had been through a traumatic event. Perhaps actually seeing Mary give birth had convinced him he wasn't cut out to be the father of an infant. He had barely even seen Victoria since that day at the Watsons' flat, and not at all in the week leading up to the christening, and she was getting tired of making excuses for his sporadic visits to his daughter.

Two weeks earlier at the lab, she had just finished a postmortem on a body of a murder victim and had been hoping Sherlock would come in to see it. When Lestrade arrived, she had been disappointed to see he was accompanied instead by Philip Anderson. Anderson had been part of the forensics team that often helped Lestrade years earlier until he had gone a little off the rails after Sherlock's apparent death and his wife had left him, which resulted in him taking an extended leave from the Yard. Molly remembered Sherlock mentioning years earlier that he had been having an affair with Sally Donovan, so that had probably not helped. After Sherlocks return, he had gotten back on track and returned to his job.

Presumably he was now single because once he had taken a look at the body himself, he had asked Molly out. With things at a standstill between Sherlock and herself, Molly was tempted. She wasn't really interested in Anderson, but the idea of going out with another man was appealing for two reasons – to see whether Sherlock would even notice and to feel as if she was someone men considered attractive.

In the end though, she had declined because the idea of being with anyone else besides Sherlock was just ridiculous when her heart was completely committed to him, despite his apparent indifference to her of late. There was also the not so insignificant matter that she was carrying Sherlock's child once again.

Confiding the incident to Mrs. Hudson however had been quite satisfactory. It was nice to be able to tell someone that another man found her attractive. She was also gratified that Mrs. Hudson had seemed unsurprised.

"Molly, you are a lovely woman and a catch for any man. I don't know why Sherlock is behaving so poorly towards you, and I'm starting to think you deserve someone better if he continues this way. Don't let him ruin your life, dear."

"I might just have to do that, move on with my life, not ruin it, I mean," responded Molly rather sadly, lying through her teeth for the first time. In her heart of hearts she knew she could never be with anyone else, but at the same time, a tiny part of her hoped that Mrs. Hudson would tell Sherlock off and mention the fact that Molly had options besides him.

Molly knew her hormones were definitely playing up and she was probably over-emotional about things, but by the day of the christening, where she knew she would be seeing Sherlock and felt she needed to tell him about the baby, she was fully expecting him to brush off the fact that she was pregnant, given his current attitude towards her. It had therefore come as a surprise that he wanted to be a part of the baby's life, and apparently hers and Victoria's as well.

Now she was confused again. What exactly did Sherlock want from her? Well, she would have to see what happened when he came over.

At around eight o'clock, she received the expected text. "The Watsons are gone. I'll be there soon."

Molly paced the floor and watched for him, telling Victoria, "Daddy is coming to see you, sweet pea."

Victoria was, unsurprisingly, delighted at the thought of seeing her father who had been absent from her life for over a week.

A bout of nausea hit Molly as she waited, and she told Victoria to sit on the sofa while she headed for the bathroom. She was still in there when she heard the knock at the door and Victoria's voice calling, 'Mummy, door."

"Mummy will be there in a minute, sweetheart," she called, flushing the toilet.

A few seconds later she heard Victoria saying jubilantly, "Daddy!"

When Molly exited the bathroom, she saw that Sherlock had removed hhis Belstaff and swung their daughter into his arms, and he was kissing her fondly.

Victoria put her arms around his neck, "I missed Daddy."

"I missed you too," Sherlock said in a deep voice, and Molly felt her eyes fill with tears. He might not have been around for awhile, but when he was, it was obvious he loved their daughter. _Too bad he doesn't love you in the same way,_ she thought to herself, as her heart ached.

Sherlock put Victoria down and looked at Molly. "Ah, there you are. Victoria and I have been getting reacquainted."

She forced a smile, blinking quickly to clear away those silly tears. "I'm glad to hear it. She needs you." Then she added, "I see you let yourself in."

"I hope you don't mind. I still have the spare key you gave me, and Victoria seemed anxious to see me."

"That's fine," Molly responded with a nod. "I'm sorry you don't have much time to visit with Victoria tonight. It's almost her bedtime."

"Not tired, Mummy," pouted the toddler.

"Yes you are. You didn't have a nap today, darling," she informed her daughter firmly.

Victoria looked belligerent, thrusting out her lower lip. "Wanna play with Daddy."

"How about I put you to bed and read you a story, then sing you a lullaby?" suggested Sherlock unexpectedly.

Their daughter nodded, placated.

Sherlock looked over at Molly. "Does she have a favourite book I can read?"

Molly smiled. "Actually, I have been working my way through _The Magic Faraway Tree_. You an read her the next chapter."

Sherlock's brow furrowed. "That name sounds very familiar but I can't place the author."

"Your mother told me you enjoyed the Enid Blyton books as a child," said Molly, a little surprised that he could not recall the author of such a well-known book.

"I see," responded Sherlock. "For some reason I do not have a lot of memories from my early childhood. I assume that is because my mind palace only stores useful information, and I probably deleted all those old memories long ago."

Molly frowned. "Well, that's a shame. Some of my fondest memories are of my parents reading those stories to me when I was little."

Sherlock shrugged. "No matter, I will get to experience the pleasure of reading the story as if it is for the first time."

Sherlock picked up Victoria and took her to her bedroom while Molly took the book from the bookshelf and opened it to the correct chapter.

Sherlock tucked to his daughter into bed and kissed her forehead, then took the book for Molly and began to read. Molly sat at the edge of the bed and listened, loving the sound of his deep voice. It was truly mesmerising, and Victoria's eyes We're growing heavy by the time he finished the chapter.

He returned the book to Molly's waiting hands and then stroked his daughter's brown hair softly, soothingly, as he sang Brahms Lullaby to her. Molly remembered him doing that at night when he had been staying with them after being shot. His German accent was perfect, she thought, at least it seemed that way to her.

"Where did you learn that?" she asked, once he was finished and Victoria's eyes had closed. She gently closed the bedroom door and walked to the sofa, preceded by Sherlock.

"YouTube, of course," he said rather absently, seating himself beside her. "Look, now that Victoria is asleep, we need to talk about this baby."

 _This baby, not our baby_ , thought Molly. "What did you want to discuss?" she asked cautiously.

Sherlock ran a hand through his hair. All of a sudden he seemed rather nervous. "I've been thinking about this. You should probably not let anyone know you are pregnant right now."

Molly's heart sank at his words, even though she wasn't really surprised. _Here we go again._ Despite the fact that she had already decided it would be best to not tell anyone about her pregnancy for now, she couldn't help playing devil's advocate to find out exactly how Sherlock felt. "Why does it matter if people know I'm pregnant? Nobody needs to know it's your baby again, if that's what you are worried about. It can just be stupid Molly, getting in trouble again thanks to another one of her one-night stands." She couldn't keep a slight bitterness out of her tone. It still hurt sometimes that people probably thought of her as that kind of person, being a single mother, when it was far from the truth. She really hated the idea of going through that again, having people whisper behind her back.

"Molly, that's precisely why I am suggesting you not tell anyone right now. Once I find out what Moriarty was up to before he died, I will come forward and admit I am the father."

"'Oh, you'll _admit_ it, will you?" She couldn't help the harsh note that crept into her voice. "So sorry to _inconvenience_ you."

Sherlock laid a hand over hers, which were primly folded in her lap. "Poor choice of words. I don't mean admit, I mean, I'll be happy to tell people about it."

Molly pulled her hand away from his and folded her arms instead. She knew her emotions were burgeoning out of control due to her hormones, but she couldn't help the accusatory words that next fell from her lips. "No you won't, Sherlock. I was hoping you were coming here tonight to tell me you had decided to forget about your ideas on waiting for this revenge plot to reveal itself. I...I'm done with this. There's always going to be some excuse why you can't say you're the father, just as you've done with Victoria. I have to tip-toe around John, to make sure he doesn't look at Victoria too closely, and I've done that for your sake. I'm tired, Sherlock, and I'm confused. I have no idea anymore about where we stand. First, you seem to want a relationship with me, then you don't. You want to acknowledge our daughter, then you don't."

This time when the tears came, Molly didn't bother blinking them away. "Why must things always be so complicated with you? Is it so wrong of me to want just a little piece of happiness to call my own? I think...I think it is best that you forget about the fact that I'm pregnant. Pretend it is someone else's baby."

Sherlock stared at her in shock at her outburst. "I won't abandon my baby," he insisted stubbornly.

She barely registered the fact that this time he had said _my_ bday, not _the_ baby. All the emotions she had been suppressing, the hurt she had been feeling at Sherlock's avoidance of her came tumbling out in a further torrent of anguished words. "What don't you understand, Sherlock? You already _have_! You're not willing to tell anyone it's yours, so what's the point in having anything to do with my pregnancy at all? Your best friend and your brother have no idea you have a child already. You could explain that away as an accident, due to us getting carried away before you had to leave London. How would you explain away this baby?." She dropped her head to bury her face in her hands. "Just go, Sherlock. I can't deal with this, with you, anymore."

She felt Sherlock's arms come around her then, and despite herself, she relaxed against him, dropping her hands from her face. "Please, Molly, don't do this. Don't shut me out of your life. I can't...I can't stay away from you anymore."

Molly snorted through her tears. "You've been doing a pretty good job of it lately."

His arms tightened around her until she could hardly breathe. "It's not because I wanted to stay away. I told you. You affect me too much, you're a distraction that could prevent me from deducing any clues that might come my way." He placed a hand beneath her chin and forced her to meet his gaze. "Listen to me, Molly. I've come to a decision. If you can bear to wait one more month, I've decided that if nothing has changed by the end of it, I'll resolve this situation once and for all. Can you give me just one month, please, Molly? I beg of you."

The tone in his voice was so sincere and she wanted so desperately to believe him. What was another month when she had waited this long? But what did he mean by resolving the situation once and for all? Did he mean he would choose to let her go if things didn't pan out as he wished or would he step forward and claim paternity over Victoria and their unborn child? She didn't dare to ask, in case he gave her the answer she didn't want to hear. "I'll try."

"Thank you, sweetheart." He bent his head to kiss her gently. What was supposed to be a simple brush of their lips ended up not being enough for either of them. It had already been two months since their last night together and passion and longing overwhelmed them both as he pulled her onto his lap.

He began to kiss her, desperately, fiercely. "Molly, my Molly," he whispered, tugging at her blouse to place his hands beneath it, feeling her skin, then reaching to unclasp her bra.

He kissed her possessively, only stopping so he could undo enough of her buttons to pull her blouse over her head, then toss aside her bra. Her fingers moved too, to release the buttons that separated her from feeling his chest. When his chest was also free she ran her hands along it. His heart was beating erratically just as she knew hers was. He might not love her, but his body still responded to hers which was some consolation.

He trailed fiery kisses from her jaw, down her throat and to her breasts, kissing one, then the other and her body arched into him, at his touch. She was always so weak where he was concerned. She gravitated towards him like a moth to a flame.

"I need you, Molly," he murmured, returning his mouth to hers as she responded.

"I need you too." And she did. She craved his touch, his caresses. She yearned for him in a way that overcame her logic. Despite that tiny niggle of guilt that always plagued her about making love with him when they were not married, she reasoned to herself it was too late to turn back, to refuse what they both wanted. She just prayed that God would forgive her for her weakness and that He would understand that in her heart her commitment to Sherlock was as deep as if they had a legal document to prove it.

And then there were no more clothes, no more words besides soft murmurs and sighs for some time as she shifted to clasp her hands around Sherlock's neck as they kissed again and gave into their passion for one another.

As their breathing returned to normal, Molly rested her head against Sherlock's chest, feeling the still rapid beat of his heart. "Well, that was an interesting experience, but I think we should really keep our activities to the bedroom - more comfortable." His rich baritone vibrated in her ear and she felt his kiss on the top of her head.

Molly shifted back enough to trace her hand lightly across the sprinkling of hairs on his chest and he grasped her hand to still its movement. "We should have been more careful. What if Victoria had woken?" she wondered aloud.

"Well, I certainly wasn't planning a seduction on your sofa," responded Sherlock with a quirk to his lips. "What is it about you that enthralls me, Molly? I try so hard to stay away, for your sake, but in the end we always end up in the same place."

"I wouldn't call the sofa the same place," she teased, and he nipped at her earlobe.

"You know what I mean," he growled in that deep voice which always thrilled her.

Molly couldn't help the giggle that escaped her lips. It was the first time she had felt content in two months. "Well, at least you don't have to be concerned about using protection anymore," she pointed out.

He released her hand to place his over her abdomen. "I know we can weather the storm together. You believe me, don't you?"

Molly sighed. "I do believe you have good intentions. It's just difficult. I know my hormones are completely out of control right now too, which doesn't help matters. It feels like we are on a never ending rollercoaster ride, or a ship being tossed back and forth, if you prefer that analogy about weathering the storm. I don't like feeling that way."

His hand moved again, this time to stroke her cheek, then he bent his head slightly to kiss her. "I don't like it either. But that's the nature of my work. I doubt things would ever be uncomplicated when it comes to my life." He fingered the locket around Molly's neck. "Do you wear this often?"

"I wear it all the time, except when I take a shower. I don't want to ruin the pictures inside," she explained, blushing a little.

"I'm glad you like it. I guess when the baby comes you can replace my picture with one of the baby instead," he remarked, opening the locket to peer inside, as if to reassure himself the photos were still there.

"Perhaps," she said noncommittally, then shivered as she felt the cold press of air on her still heated skin. "It's getting a bit cold out here. Do you...do you want to come into the bed, or do you need to leave? I have to go to work early and drop off Victoria at Mrs. Hudson's, but you can stay if you want," she offered, biting her lip as she waited for his response.

"Why don't I stay for now, and I'll take Victoria back to Baker Street with me in the morning?" he suggested immediately. "I didn't get to spend much time with her tonight, after all."

"Is that wise? What if your brother has his surveillance cameras on you? Won't he be suspicious if he sees you turning up in the morning with a child in tow?" she questioned hesitantly.

Sherlock shrugged. "Contrary to popular belief, my brother doesn't spend _all_ his time watching me and my movements. He does have a job too, you know. Quite frankly, if he has nothing better to do than monitor my early morning activities, I feel sorry for him, and he can bloody well think what he wants. I'm willing to take that chance."

"Alright." Relieved, Molly slid off of Sherlock's lap, eliciting a soft grunt from him, and picked up her discarded clothing. "Coming?"

"Right behind you." He swatted at her bum playfully and she squealed.

When she got under the duvet, she shivered slightly again at the feel of the cold sheets on her bare skin, but Sherlock was immediately beside her, gathering her into his arms, and she was soon warm again. It always felt so right to be in his arms. She just wished he could be with her always. Of course, there were no guarantees, and in a month's time she might lose him forever. But she would take what he offered for as long as he offered it because she loved him so desperately.

When Molly's alarm went off, it was with a sense of surprise that she realised she was still securely wrapped in Sherlock's arms. He really had stayed with her all night. She had been unsure if he would actually follow through with his intentions to stay the night. It felt strange that she would be the one leaving him this time.

She rose, got dressed and went into the kitchen to put on the kettle, then went to Victoria's room. The toddler stirred as she entered.

"Daddy's going to take you with him a bit later to Nanny Hudders, sweet pea," she said, stroking her daughter's hair and kissing her forehead.

Victoria immediately sat up. "Daddy still here?"

Molly nodded. "Yes, lovey. You make sure to be a good girl when Mummy leaves for work, okay?"

"I pwomise, Mummy."

By the time Molly had taken Victoria to the toilet and helped her get dressed, Sherlock was already sitting at the table. He had made their coffee and even toast, even cutting up a pice of buttered toast with jam on a plate for Victoria who had finally outgrown her high chair and insisted on sitting on a regular chair with cushions to lift her up high enough.

"Wow, you didn't need to do that, but thanks," Molly told him, feeling rather surprised at his thoughtfulness.

Sherlock shrugged. "It was no problem. I'm not in a hurry to get to work, after all."

By the time Molly was ready to leave for work, she was feeling in a positive mood. It was convenient to not have to drop the toddler off herself, that extra time meant the three of them spent some time together. It was almost as if they were a family, Molly reflected, wishing it were true.

She kissed Victoria goodbye and was about to open the front door when Sherlock's voice stopped her.

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

Molly looked at him questioningly. What had she forgotten? The flat keys were in her handbag, as was her phone. "What am I forgetting?"

"This." He moved to stand in front of her and lifted her chin with one hand, then settled a lingering kiss on her lips. "My kiss goodbye."

"Oh," she breathed, blushing slightly. "Bye, Sherlock."

"Goodbye, sweetheart." She caught her breath at the endearment. She knew he didn't mean anything by it, the word had escaped his lips several times by now, but it still made her tingle all over when he called her sweetheart.

She smiled at Sherlock and waved goodbye to her daughter and the man she loved, then raised her hand for a passing taxi. Hope sparked within her once again as she headed to work.

* * *

 **Author's note:** So, Sherlock just wants another month to settle things before he reveals his relationship with Molly publicly. What do you think? Is it a good compromise? Were you happy to see Molly stand up for herself, at least for awhile? I have to admit, I certainly would not want to be in her situation!

Sherlock is also indicating that he has gaps in his memory from his childhood. If you have read my initial story, _A Journey to Love, Faith and Marriage_ , you will know that there is a connection to his childhood with Eurus and the Enid Blyton book mentioned here. If you haven't, well, feel free to read that story for the full post- TFP experience of my Sherlolly universe. People are still beginning the Journey and reviewing that story, so I'd be delighted to see it continue to thrive with more feedback as my single, most comprehensive look at filling in all the plot holes for the series as well as continuing the story of Sherlock and Molly (okay, shameless plug here haha).

No matter what story or author you are reading, remember, feedback is important in motivating them to continue. Please take a moment and support your favourite authors. Silent readers contribute nothing to support their fandom, responsive ones make it flourish.


	29. Advice from Mary

Sherlock watched as Molly left for work. What was it about this woman that kept him coming back to her? He kept fighting his inner demons when it came to her. He felt so unworthy of her loyalty. Yet he couldn't stay away from her either. Now he had to figure out how to juggle a relationship with her and their unborn child, as well as continue being a father to Victoria, not to mention keeping up with his detective work.

It had hurt when Molly tried to push him away, and he had been afraid she would insist upon it, not allow him to be part of the new baby's life. It seemed though he needed her as well. His body told him he needed her, even while his mind warred with himself, saying he should continue to keep his distance, that she would just be a distraction. With the new baby though he had to admit he didn't want to leave her alone or let her go. Not now. Truthfully, not ever.

If only Moriarty's accomplice would reveal his plan within the next month, all would be well. Sherlock could then move on with his life. He and Molly could get married and raise their children together away from London if need be. That was what he wanted, what his heart wanted more than anything.

He felt a tug on his sleeve and looked down at his daughter. "Daddy, are we going soon?"

"Yes, of course, sweet pea. I'll just call a taxi for us." He looked around for the changing bag. Nowadays it contained mostly play items for his daughter.

Soon afterwards they were at Baker Street. When he knocked on Mrs. Hudson's door, she exclaimed, "Oh, I was wondering why Molly wasn't here yet with Victoria." Then her eyes widened. "Oh, you - did you spend the night with her?"

Sherlock flushed slightly. "I'd prefer not to answer that question."

Of course, right then Victoria had to chime in with, "Daddy got me bweakfast."."

The landlady gave him a knowing smile, but said to Victoria, "That must have been very nice,"

Victoria nodded vigorously as his landlady said, "Well, come in and visit for a minute, Sherlock," said the elderly woman, gesturing for him to enter.

Sherlock did so, hoping she wasn't about to start lecturing him about his personal life. He knew quite well from the reproving looks she had given him at the christening that she felt he had been neglecting his daughter.

Victoria went immediately to the table and climbed onto a seat in order to work on an unfinished puzzle.

Mrs. Hudson looked over at her and then spoke in a low tone to Sherlock. "I certainly hope you are not just playing around with Molly's feelings again. You're not the only man in the world after all. She deserves someone who will be there for her and her child consistently, not just a sometime father who comes and goes as he pleases."

Sherlock started at the censure in her tone. He clenched his jaw and gritted, "I am not playing with Molly's feelings. She and our daughter mean the world to me."

Mrs. Hudson folded her arms. "Well, for your sake, you had better come up to scratch soon, young man. If not, you're going to find yourself alone again when she moves on with someone else."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at that. "Molly isn't seeing anyone else."

Mrs. Hudson sniffed. "Perhaps not, but that isn't for lack of offers."

An alarm bell rang in Sherlock's ears. This was something he had not at all expected to hear. "What do you mean by that - other offers?" he demanded in a deadly quiet tone, glancing over at Victoria to make sure she was not paying attention to the conversation. Fortunately she wasn't.

Mrs. Hudson, of course, was not intimidated in the slighted. "Oh, she was telling me last week that she's been asked out to dinner by that forensics guy who sometimes works with Lestrade," she told him in a superior tone.

Sherlock's lips tightened. "Do you mean Anderson? That inept fellow Mycroft likes to use when it comes to searching my flat for drugs?"

"That's the one."

This time, a prickle of apprehension slid down Sherlocks spine. "She didn't accept, did she?"

Her response was far from satisfactory. "Not this time. Maybe next time she will. It isn't as if you have any type of commitment to one another with your refusal to bring your affair or whatever you want to call it out into the open, is it?" Her voice was cutting. Sherlock had never heard his landlady talk so coldly towards him and he didn't like it at all.

This time it was his turn to fold his arms defensively. "It's not an affair, Mrs. Hudson. It's a relationship."

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever you say, Sherlock. I'm just giving you fair warning. Molly isn't going to stay around forever to wait for you to make up your mind about her."

He was about to make a heated retort when his phone chimed. He checked and saw it was a message from Lestrade. It was a good excuse to end the conversation. "Well, duty calls. I have work to do." He walked to the chair on which his daughter was sitting and bent down to drop a kiss on the top of her head. "I'll see you later, sweet pea."

She looked up briefly and smiled, then returned to her task.

As Sherlock ascended the stairs to his flat, he reflected on Mrs. Hudson's words of caution. Suddenly he felt insecure about the status of things with Molly. He'd assumed that her being pregnant would be enough to keep her tied to him, but that wasn't enough after all.

 _She's mine, dammit_ , he cursed to himself. _I don't want another man hanging around, trying to steal her from me._ But what could he do to make sure she didn't go off with anyone else when he knew that within a month he planned to make things official and ask her to marry him? For now though, how could he ensure that Molly didn't get tired of waiting for him if he got busy with his work and neglected her again?

Going upstairs to his flat, Sherlock read over the text he had received. Giles had a new case for him. It would have to wait until the next day, he thought. He had a couple clients to deal with later on today. He'd see if John wanted to join him tomorrow.

First he texted Mary.

 _Mary,can I borrow your husband for a case tomorrow evening at 5 PM? I got a text from Giles about a case, and I thought John might like to have a night off from fathering duties - no offence._

It was some minutes before he got a response.

 _Sorry, I was just changing Rosie's nappy. By Giles I assume you mean Greg Lestrade. You really ought to learn the poor man's name. That's fine with me. Oh, I've been meaning to ask - how are things with you and Molly? They have seemed a bit strained lately._

Suddenly, Sherlock hit upon an idea. Mary was a woman. Perhaps she would be able to help him with his situation in regard to Molly.

 _Actually I wouldn't mind getting some advice. I don't suppose you could come over and see me this morning?_

 _I'd love to get out of the house. Rosie and I will be there as soon as I can get her ready,_ she responded.

Sherlock smiled with relief. He was sure Mary would have pearls of wisdom for him.

 _Thank you._

He sent a text to John.

 _Baker Street? Tomorrow 5 PM? Lestrade says he has a belter._

After he sent the text, he remembered to add, _Mary says it's fine._

A few minutes later John responded in the affirmative.

Then Sherlock sat and waited for Mary. When she arrived with her daughter, Rosie was asleep in her carseat, which was quite convenient. Sherlock sat in his chair and indicated for Mary to take a seat on the sofa.

"So, what's all this about, then? I'm assuming it has something to do with Molly, seeing as you did not answer my question about how things were going but just asked for my advice."

Sherlock nodded and blew out a long breath. "Who else? I have nobody else to talk to. Obviously it isn't something I can discuss with John. He has no clue I've ever had a relationship with her, least of all a child with her."

Mary's lips curled downwards."I'm not sure I understand the secrecy, Sherlock. He's your best friend." There was a note of rebuke in Mary's voice.

Sherlock thought about her words for a moment before responding. "It's complicated. I can't help worrying that John might inadvertently let things slip, and a dangerous situation will ensue. It's the reason I didn't tell him the truth when I faked my death. When it comes to secrecy, John is not a good candidate for it. He's just not capable of deception. First, I needed to keep things quiet about me and Molly because I wanted to protect her and Victoria from Magnussen. Now it's whoever is behind the Moriarty threat. I can't risk anyone trying to get at me through them, now more than ever."

"What's that supposed to mean? Why are you even more worried now?" Mary looked suddenly thoughtful. Then her eyes widened and he heard her sharp intake of air. "Oh my God. You've done it again!"

"Done what?" asked Sherlock, completely bewildered.

"You've gone and got her pregnant again, haven't you?" She arched an accusing eyebrow in his direction as Sherlock felt a flush creep up his face. "I just knew something was off at the christening. She wasn't drinking, she was sick..."

Despite his embarrassment, Sherlock couldn't help giving her an admiring look. "Maybe you should be my assistant, rather than John. He tends to miss the obvious."

"Yeah, like me being pregnant," Mary remarked dryly. "Although, to be fair, I missed the signs myself, thought those missed periods were pre-wedding jitters messing with my hormones. Tell me I'm right, Sherlock," she insisted. "Molly's pregnant, isn't she?"

He sighed heavily. "I am afraid so. When it happened, well, we were in a good place. I was about to get Magnussen put in jail. As soon as that was accomplished I intended to ask her to marry me."

Mary looked at him in astonishment. "I had no idea things were so serious. I mean, I asked you both to be godparents for Rosie because I think you belong together. But I must admit, after hearing John tell me time and time again that you are married to your work, I didn't really think you would be interested in a legal commitment to Molly."

Sherlock frowned. "When I told John that, we had only just met and I was trying to make sure he didn't have any ideas that I might be interested in him as anything other than a flatmate."

A crease formed between Mary's brows and she asked, " why on earth would you have presumed he was gay?"

Sherlock let out a short huff of laughter. "I suppose it was in response to us being at a restaurant and Angelo, the proprietor, assumed we were there on a date, rather than the case it actually was."

Mary shook her head and rolled her eyes. "I suppose that's the way things are these days. Two men can't be seen together without it being assumed they are a couple, rather than just friends."

"Apparently not," responded Sherlock. "Also, John asked if I had a girlfriend and when I said no, that wasn't really my area, he asked if I had a boyfriend. So I kind of assumed that perhaps he was interested and had to set him straight."

Mary laughed out loud at that. "You, the master detective, making assumptions?"

Sherlock gave her an offended look. "Even Mrs. Hudson assumed in the beginning that we wished to be more than flatmates. She asked if John would be needing the second bedroom upstairs."

Mary slapped her knees in delight, causing Rosie to open her eyes, then close them again. Sherlock had the feeling that she would be awake properly soon. "Mrs. Hudson too? My God, she must have really been shocked when she found out Molly was pregnant with your baby, then."

"Undoubtedly so. But make no mistake, she is aware by now that I only want to be with one person, and that is Molly Hooper. I love her and I would do anything for her."

"So how long have you known you loved Molly?" enquired Mary curiously.

Sherlock pursed his lips in thought, considering the question. "If I'm honest with myself, I think I've been in love with her since I met her in our uni days. I wasn't in a place to admit it to myself back then though. I didn't think I was capable of it. Ever since I was a little boy, I felt a disconnect from emotions of that kind, but Molly managed to start breaking down those walls as time passed when we started seeing one another again regularly at Bart's, culminating in her helping me fake my death. That's when I knew I wanted more than friendship with her and obviously, I don't need to spell out exactly what happened between us afterwards."

He took a deep breath, then continued. "Anyway, while I was in exile, I thought about Molly constantly, about coming back to her. She had promised to wait for me for a year, but it took two. As soon as I returned to London I bought a ring. That day you came to find me, when John was kidnapped, I was with Molly earlier. I had planned to take her out for chips and propose, but then I found out she was already engaged. And later she told me we had a child, but she refused to break off her engagement."

Mary stood and walked to the chair, patting Sherlock sympathetically on the shoulder. "So that's why you threw yourself into the planning for my wedding with John - to escape."

"Yes," Sherlock admitted. "When she broke things off with Tom at the end of your wedding reception, we got back together but then the Magnussen thing came along and we've been separating and coming back together ever since. It's like cosmic forces keep pulling us apart by way of these damned cases. I don't want to lose her, but I don't want her to be a target of any of my enemies that could be out there. And then Molly threw me for a loop when she told me at your place after the christening, that she's pregnant." He bent his head forward and placed it in his hands briefly before straightening again. "I just want everything to be over with so I can move on with my life properly, and I'm scared of losing Molly to someone else while I wait. And now I have another baby on the way to worry about. I just don't know what to do. Help me, Mary. Help me make sense of this." He looked at her desperately.

"For one thing, if this isn't the right time for you to have another child, perhaps you should consider-" her voice trailed off as she obviously noticed the fierce expression on Sherlock's face.

"Don't even go there." He folded his arms. "I want my baby, and so does Molly. It might be awhile before I can acknowledge paternity, but I shall be proud to do so, when the time is right. What I need your help with is in making sure Molly doesn't suddenly decide she'd be better off with another man raising our baby."

"Why would you suddenly feel threatened by the idea that Molly might go off with someone else?" Mary went over to the carseat, where Rosie had awoken and was beginning to grizzle.

"Mrs. Hudson was telling me that that blasted Anderson is sniffing around, and she also pointed out that Molly and I have no formal arrangement, so she is free to see other men if she so pleases," he explained then chewed on his lower lip. "I wanted your advice on how to proceed with Molly, to ensure her loyalty to me. You're a woman. You know these things."

Mary picked up Rosie and remarked, "Personally, I think you're being a drama queen, Sherlock. If Molly has stuck by you this long I doubt she is going anywhere."

"Perhaps so, but I am not willing to just take my chances on that. Why do you think I asked for your help?"

Mary didn't answer immediately. Instead, she sat back down on the sofa and casually lifted her blouse to unhook her bra and feed the baby. Sherlock averted his eyes, embarrassed.

Mary laughed at his obvious distress. "You had better get over the embarrassment of seeing a woman breast-feed if you want your relationship with Molly to be permanent. She told me she breast-fed Victoria for over twelve months."

Sherlock still kept his eyes averted. "Well, it would be different with Molly, of course. I think...I think I'd rather enjoy watching her feed our own baby."

He suddenly realised they had got off-track and returned to the matter at hand. "Please, Mary, what am I going to do about the current situation, to make sure Molly doesn't decide she's better off without me."

Mary , who Sherlock could see from the corner of his eye had been looking down lovingly at her infant, looked up at him. "Here's my advice. You could just bloody well tell her you love her."

Sherlock continued to avoid looking in her direction. "No. I refuse to do that until such time as I can follow a declaration with a proposal of marriage and the protection of my name." Then he added, "Unless of course, she says it first, in which case I would not allow her to labour under the misapprehension that I do not feel the same."

He could have sworn Mary muttered something along the lines of, "God, you're both a pair of bloody, stubborn idiots," but he couldn't be sure, because he was still keeping his gaze steadfastly fixed on John's empty chair. Besides, why on earth would she label Molly an idiot - himself, certainly he could understand, but not Molly. He did hear it though when she said. "Well, I'm sorry, Sherlock. You dismissed my advice, so you're going to have to solve this problem yourself."

Sherlock huffed. _Women_ , he thought, irritated. _Why must they always be so annoying?_

"Very well," he pouted. "I suppose I shall have to look for answers in my mind palace instead."

He heard Mary chuckle. "You do that."

Sherlock bent forward and rested his elbows on his knees, then steepled his fingers in his usual manner, placing them beneath his chin. He sat in silent contemplation in his mind palace for some time, with his eyes closed. He could vaguely hear the contented suckling noises made by the baby, and he thought about what it would be like to hear them coming from his child suckling at Molly's breast. The thought both excited and frightened him. Was he really ready to deal with a newborn? He had certainly not been very comfortable as of yet with Rosie. He supposed though it would be somewhat different with his own child. He forced himself to get back to the task at hand. Suddenly he hit upon the perfect answer. He just needed to define his relationship with Molly properly, so that she knew he wanted to be only with her and expected her to afford him the same courtesy. Yes, it was _brilliant_!

He heard the rustling sound of Mary replacing her blouse and knew Rosie had finished feeding. He opened his eyes to see Mary holding the infant up and patting her back, after which the baby gave a satisfying little burp. _Fascinating_ , he thought, instantly envisioning Molly doing the same with their own baby.

"So, did you find some clarity in your mind palace?" asked Mary mildly.

"I most certainly did," he affirmed proudly. "I will make sure Molly knows I am serious about her and our future and I know exactly how to prove it."

Mary walked to him with Rosie, leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Without a declaration of love or a proposal? Good luck wit that and I hope it all works out. God knows, I'll be happy when you finally let John in on it. I can't wait to see his reaction. Seriously though, he'll probably give you a well deserved punch in the face for keeping things from him again. In any case, you deserve to be happy, Sherlock. Now kiss your goddaughter goodbye and I'll be going."

Sherlock dutifully kissed the infant and then kissed Mary's cheek as well. "Thank you for coming, Mary."

"You're most welcome." She situated Rosie in her carseat and was just about to leave the flat, when a knock sounded at the door.

A cheery voice said, "It's just me!" and Mrs. Hudson came in with Victoria. "Oh, hello, Mary. How nice to see you, and little Rosie too."

Victoria had gone to the infant in her carseat and was looking at her in fascination, placing a gentle finger to the baby's cheek. Then she looked up at Sherlock. "Pwetty baby."

Sherlock scooped up his daughter. "Almost as pretty as you, sweet pea." He looked at Mary and grinned. "Sorry, I'm a bit biased."

Mary chuckled. "You're allowed to be."

"Our baby?" questioned Victoria with interest.

Sherlock shook his head. "No. Auntie Mary had a baby in her tummy and now the baby is here. Her name is Rosamund."

"Wosmund," said his daughter, trying out the name.

Mary smiled and ruffled her brown hair. "That's right, but you can call her Rosie. Well, Rosie and I must be going now. Bye, bye, Victoria, love."

"Bye Auntie Mary, bye Wosie," responded Victoria.

Mary then made her farewells to Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson and left the flat.

Mrs. Hudson spoke after Mary had gone. "I came upstairs to see if you wanted to have lunch with your daughter and myself."

"Ah, yes, that would be fine," replied Sherlock. He was feeling rather hungry actually. "I do have a couple clients this afternoon, but lunch would be good."

Sherlock took Victoria's hand and they went downstairs behind Mrs. Hudson. "And what have you been up to, sweet pea?" he asked, once they entered his landlady's flat.

She pointed to a block alphabet puzzle on the kitchen table. "I know all those." Sherlock walked with her over to the table and she starred pointing out the letters of the alphabet. _Yes, she is truly a gifted child,_ he thought with pride.

"I'm proud of you. Can you make any words with the letters?" At her nod, he set her down on the chair. "You make Daddy some words and I will talk with Nanny for a minute."

Victoria obediently began to pull alphabet letters out of the puzzle while Sherlock said in a low voice to Mrs. Hudson. "Would you mind keeping Victoria a bit longer today? I need to discuss something with Molly when she arrives to pick her up after work."

"I hope that means you have been thinking about what I said earlier," remarked Mrs. Hudson.

"Indeed I have, and I intend to make things very clear to Molly about where things stand between us," he confided and his landlady looked pleased.

"Well, of course, dear. Take as long as you need. I love being with Victoria. She is such a good child. Rather easier to look after than you have been at times." She gave him an indulgent smile and Sherlock chuckled.

"I know. I have acted rather childishly in the past, but I'm trying to act more like a father these days."

"I can see that." She patted his arm affectionately.

Sherlock looked over at his daughter, who had arranged several words - _cat, we, go, ma_. He was sure if she had more letters she could have done more. "Great job, Victoria," he praised, and the toddler beamed.

After lunch, Sherlock headed back upstairs to await his clients. He sent off a quick text to Molly first.

 _When you come to pick up Victoria, please come up and see me first. I need to speak with you. Mrs. Hudson will watch Victoria a little longer._

She responded quickly. _Is everything okay?_

 _Everything's fine,_ he responded in a further text. _I'll see you when you get here. Door will be unlocked so come right up._

He smiled slightly as he waited for his first client to arrive, decision made. It was time to define his relationship with Molly.

* * *

 **Author's note:** So, Sherlock has finally found some clarity. What do you think he is going to tell Molly?

Did you enjoy his conversation with Mary? I feel certain that if things had transpired this way, where Sherlock was already involved with Molly, he would have turned to Mary for advice because she was his friend and could offer the female perspective.

Did you catch the muttered remark by Mary that Sherlock couldn't quite understand? If you recall, Mary and Molly have already talked, and now Mary knows both sides of the story, that they both love one another, but also knows it is not her place to betray their confidences. She definitely wants them to work things out though! Can you imagine being in that situation?

Thanks to those of you who show you care about my writing with your thoughtful reviews! Your support, as always, means so much.


	30. Defining the Relationship

**Author's note:** I wanted to get this chapter up last week, but, as some of my reader friends are aware, a migraine and other family stuff meant I had to push it back. Sorry to make you wait a week to find out what Sherlock wants to tell Molly! Hope you find it worth the wait.

* * *

Molly felt a little apprehensive as she opened the outer door to 221B. It was indeed unlocked. She and Sherlock hadn't discussed where they went from here earlier that day. Was he going to inform her that they needed to not see one another again over the next month? It would make sense, she supposed, if he wanted to concentrate solely on cases, but she would not like the idea if he suggested it, regardless. She climbed the stairs rather apprehensively to the upstairs flat and was about to knock on the door when Sherlock opened it.

"May I take your jacket?" he asked formally.

Okay, this was going to be a serious, prolonged conversation if she was going to take off her jacket. "Okay." She allowed him to help her out of her jacket, which he hung on the back of the front door.

"Why don't you sit down?" he suggested, ushering her towards the sofa. She took a seat, expecting him to sit in his chair as usual. Instead, he sat beside her and turned his body towards her.

"So, what's this about?" she asked nervously. _Please don't tell me we need to stay apart for the next month,_ she thought silently as her brows lifted questioningly.

Unexpectedly, he reached a hand to take one of hers. "I was talking to Mary earlier and she-"

"You were?" she interrupted, surprised. Okay, that had definitely not been the way she expected this conversation to start. "Why were you talking with her?"

"If you wouldn't interrupt, I would explain," he said, pursing his lips and giving her a mock frown.

She blinked and bit her lip. "Sorry. I'm listening."

"Well, I told her you were pregnant again and-"

Molly interrupted again. She was annoyed now. "You told her I was pregnant? That wasn't your place to do that. Besides, you said you didn't want anyone to know for as long as possible. Why did you tell her?" She tried to pull her hand from Sherlock's grasp, but he wouldn't allow it, in fact, he took her other hand.

"Well, in all fairness, she deduced it by something I had said. I didn't actually just blurt it out," he explained.

"That's beside the point. Why would you reveal something so...private?"

Sherlock frowned. "I just told you, I did not reveal the information, she came to that conclusion herself and I merely affirmed it. You wouldn't have me lie, would you?" He quirked a brow at her. "Isn't that one of the commandments from your Bible, to not lie?"

Molly couldn't help being surprised that he even was aware of it, considering the way he continued to deny God's existence. "Yes, that is one of the Ten Commandments from the Old Testament of the Bible, but I'm surprised you're even aware of it," she responded, a little more acidly than she had intended.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I may be ignorant about most of that book, but I don't think you would find too many people who haven't at least heard about the commandments somewhere, you know, 'thou shalt not kill', 'thou shalt not' do this and that." He furrowed his brow for a moment. "To be honest, I'm not really sure where I learned about them. Perhaps I had some learning in church as a child, although I really don't remember ever attending church. My parents are church-goers though so I suppose it would make sense."

Again, Molly wondered about that. Sherlock had mentioned to her before about not having many memories from his young life. It was decidedly odd that he wouldn't even remember if he had ever attended church as a child. She was about to question him on that when he continued.

"Anyway, I don't want to waste time in religious discussion right now. That can wait for some other time." Molly's heart lifted a little at those words. It sounded as if he might actually be open to discussing things at some point. She sincerely hoped so.

"Well, you did start it," she pointed out. Then she remembered what had prompted dit and asked again, "So why were you talking with Mary?"

"Because she is my friend, and I needed advice from a woman," Sherlock started.

Hurt that Sherlock would not turn to her for advice settled over Molly. "I thought _we_ were friends. Why didn't you ask _me_ instead?" She felt angry tears fill her eyes. Did he really think so little of her he couldn't come to her with his problems? Her hand clenched involuntarily in his.

Sherlock stroked the back of her hand and she relaxed at his thumb's caress. She could not help it. "Molly, please listen. I couldn't come to you, because I needed advice _about_ you."

"What...what about me?" she questioned, confused.

Suddenly he curled his other hand around hers and blurted out, "Will you be my girlfriend?"

Molly stared at him in utter shock. "What did you say?"

"I mean, we can't make it public or anything just yet, but I want you, Molly. I want us to be...oh what's the bloody word?"

"Friends with benefits?" she ventured. Of course, she thought of him as the man she loved, the desire of her heart, but he didn't necessarily feel the same way.

Sherlock let out a frustrated huff of annoyance. "Oh, for God's sake, Molly, I said _girlfriend_. Doesn't that imply my feelings go deeper than mere friendship?"

Molly lifted an eyebrow. "Well, you want to see me secretly and not let anyone else know. I assume you want sex as well, don't you? That is the classic friends with benefits scenario."

Sherlock released her hand and crossed his arms. "I don't like you using that word. It's not just sex for me, Molly, but yes, of course I want to be with you sexually as well. I happen to thoroughly enjoy that aspect of our relationship, limited as our encounters of that nature have been to this point." He shot her a look and added, "And don't pretend you don't feel the same way. I know how your body responds to mine."

He gave her a rather smug smile as he finished speaking, and Molly felt the colour rising in her cheeks. She knew it was true. Being with him that way was always the culmination of her feelings for him, the opportunity to express her true devotion without actually expressing the telling words of love out loud.

Molly clasped her now free hands in her lap. "Fine, you've made your point. I'm just surprised you want to even define things between us that way," she said honestly.

Sherlock raised a hand to smack the side of his head as if he were trying to force sense into it. "In any case, asking you to be my girlfriend means I want you to think of us as- oh why can't I think of the damned word?"

Molly waited patiently, deciding she should probably not interrupt his mind palace process again. A few moments later a smile spread across his face as the answer obviously dawned on him. "That's it. I want us to be _exclusive_."

Molly's mouth dropped open again. That was tantamount to a declaration of sentiment, of affection. This was the first time he had actually wanted to put a label on their relationship. A sudden suspicion crossed her mind. "Are you saying this because Mrs. Hudson told you you might not be the only man who finds me attractive? Because it sure sounds like you're acting territorial all of a sudden, and you've never done that before." She smirked a little. She was right, she was sure of it.

Sherlock pursed his lips. "So what if I am? At this juncture in our relationship, I would prefer that you not go off into the sunset with someone else, especially not while you are carrying my child."

Molly couldn't help feeling somewhat offended. He was acting as if she spent all her time away from him flirting with other men and inviting their attentions.

"Sherlock, are you really worried that I might go off with someone else?"

His eyes flickered slightly. "Perhaps," he admitted. "I cannot discount the possibility that another man might try to steal your affections, seeing as you are outwardly unattached."

Once again he took her hand, and this time pressed a kiss to her palm. "Just say you'll be my girlfriend, Molly, please."

It was a start, she thought. He wouldn't have asked her to be his exclusively if he didn't care about her. "So, just to be clear, you want me to be your secret girlfriend?"

Sherlock nodded. "Pretty much. It's only until this damned Moriarty thing is sorted out." A possessive note came into his voice as he said the next words, and Molly couldn't help the little ripple of excitement that flared within her. "You're mine, Molly. I don't want to lose you to anyone else again." She knew then that he was remembering Tom, that she had almost married another man.

It was then that he dropped her hands to pull her towards him, so he could look into her eyes as he waited for her response, and the action prompted her heartbeat to immediately accelerate. "I'll be your secret girlfriend, if that's what you want." She couldn't help adding, "But just so you know, it goes both ways. I don't want to lose you either, Sherlock," she responded.

He rolled his eyes. "Who the hell else do I have contact with of the female persuasion? The only other woman I ever went out with was Janine, and you knew that was for a case. Therefore I can say with absolute certainty that you will never have to worry about losing me to another woman," he promised, before taking possession of her mouth, kissing her slowly, gently at first, then increasing the intensity as he felt her response. She felt herself being lifted onto his lap as he continued to kiss her.

Waves of desire washed over them both. "Sherlock!" she gasped, feeling his hand creeping up her leg. "I need to get Victoria. You said you had to talk with me. We don't have time for this." His lips were burning a fiery trail down her throat.

He stopped to say huskily, "Mrs. Hudson said to take as long as I need, and right now, I need _you_." He resumed kissing her and she knew there was no point in arguing. Her heart was so full of love for this man, and she did not protest when he slid her off his lap, then picked her up into his arms properly and took her to his bedroom.

Feeling pressed for time, they undressed themselves quickly, falling onto the bed in a tangle of limbs. But then Sherlock slowed down. He took his time trailing his fingers lightly over Molly's body, lavishing her with his kisses and caresses, touching her until she was crying out, pleading with him to be with her, to make love to her.

When he complied, she felt such joy in being with him again. Their bodies moved together, and it was like coming home. They soared to the heights together, and then stilled, spent from the passion that had consumed them both.

Sherlock was still holding Molly close when a wave of nausea hit her suddenly and she scrambled out of the bed to dash to the bathroom. She made it just in time. Thank God her hair was still in its ponytail from work. Being sick was no fun when your hair got in the way. Well, it was no fun at any time, but it was worse when you had to use one hand to keep your hair out of the way.

She heard Sherlock enter the bathroom as she flushed the toilet.

"If I didn't know you were pregnant I'd be worried that I was the one who made you sick," he joked, and she gave him a wan smile.

"Well, you _are_ partly to blame for it," she retorted, when she had taken a few recovering breaths.

"I'm sorry, love," Sherlock said, reaching a hand to to her waist to help her up so she could wash her hands. "Were you sick a lot with Victoria as well?"

He'd said _love_. It sounded like music to her ears, even though she knew he hadn't realised he'd done it. It was just a casual term of endearment, like the way he had called her sweetheart. "Yeah, I was pretty sick in the first trimester. There were days I couldn't keep anything down and was throwing up every twenty minutes."

He gave her a shocked look. "That's awful, Molly. I'm sorry I wasn't there to help you. If you get sick like that, let me know and I'll take care of you."

"You'd really do that? What if you're in the middle of a case?" she asked, watching him dig into a drawer of the bathroom vanity and triumphantly lift out a toothbrush.

"'Well, maybe not if I am out on a case," he conceded, "but as soon as I was done, certainly. Here - you can have this toothbrush and brush your teeth. Then I suppose we should get dressed and go downstairs so you can pick up Victoria."

She took the toothbrush gratefully, appreciating the thoughtful gesture and applied some of his mint toothpaste onto it, recognising it as the same kind she herself used. She wondered if he had always used it or had switched to it after using it during the time he had stayed at her place while recuperating from the gunshot wound. She could hear the movements from the bedroom as he got dressed. As soon as her teeth were clean, she too returned to the bedroom and re-dressed.

Together they headed downstairs to see Mrs. Hudson. The elderly woman opened the door to them and gave them a suspicious look. "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about your daughter. She's having a nap."

"You said I could take as long as I needed," Sherlock pointed out. "There were things I needed to do."

Mrs. Hudson raised an eyebrow at a blushing Molly. "Not quite what I meant by that, but I'm just an old woman. What do I know about the ways of young people these days?"

"Anyway, it took a little longer to come downstairs because Molly was sick," Sherlock said hastily, in an obvious effort to change the topic.

Mrs. Hudson looked at him again, then said slowly, "Molly was sick after the christening too." Then her eyes widened and she said, "Oh my God. Don't you two know how to use protection?"

Molly blushed furiously at that, as Sherlock said with a wry grin, not trying to deny the truth, "I guess it isn't necessary anymore."

Mrs. Hudson huffed. "I don't know why the two of you don't just move in together or get married or something. God knows you don't seem to be able to keep your hands off each other."

"That is our business, not yours, Mrs. Hudson," said Sherlock crisply, as Molly's heart sank. She knew if Sherlock asked her to move in with him or to marry him she wouldn't refuse, but she didn't know if he'd ever be ready for a permanent commitment like that. His work was too important. Hadn't he said he was married to his work before?

Thus reprimanded, Mrs. Hudson turned away from Sherlock with a sniff that could have competed with Mycroft's best disdainful efforts, to look at Molly. "Do you want to take your daughter now?"

"Yes, we should really be going. Thank you for always being so good to her, to me."

Unexpectedly, the older woman embraced her. "I'm happy to do it. Victoria really is like my own granddaughter."

She left the room and returned shortly afterwards holding the hand of a sleepy, rather disgruntled child. However, Victoria perked up when she saw her parents standing together.

"Mummy, Daddy, you're here!" She ran forward and reached a hand out for both of them to take.

"It's time to go home, darling," Molly said.

"Daddy too?" asked the toddler hopefully, looking between her parents.

Molly was astonished when Sherlock responded with, "Well, actually, I have a case tomorrow but I am free right now. So I guess it's up to your mummy if she wants me to come over again."

Molly heard Mrs. Hudson murmur, "If you moved in together you could save a lot on taxi fare."

She pretended she had not heard the comment though and merely said, "That's fine with me." She did wonder at Sherlock's unusual lack of forethought though. Wasn't he always complaining about being under constant surveillance? Oh well, if Sherlock was not concerned, she wasn't going to point it out. What did she know about his brother's methods anyway?

"Well, I guess I'll go back upstairs and grab a few things," Sherlock said, releasing Victoria's hand. He addressed Mrs. Hudson. "I'll just bring Victoria over with me in the morning after Molly goes to work. _Save on taxi fare_ ," he said pointedly to the elderly woman who grinned in response.

 _So, he plans to stay overnight, then?_ Molly could hardly believe it. Every time she thought she had Sherlock figured out, he surprised her.

As it turned out, Molly was very glad Sherlock had decided to stay over. No sooner had she cooked dinner for the three of them, than she began to feel the nausea that she had experienced during her first pregnancy, the uncontrollable one that meant she was going to be sick on a constant basis for some time.

Thank God for Sherlock. While Molly spent the next few hours with her head in the toilet, he took care of their daughter, putting her to bed and explaining that Mummy was sick. Eventually Victoria would have to be told the reason for her mummy's sickness, but this was definitely not yet the time.

Sherlock found Ritz crackers in one of the kitchen cupboards and had a glass of water at the ready for Molly after each bout of sickness.

It was almost two in the morning when Molly felt that constant nausea subside at last. She had told Sherlock to go to bed earlier, but he had refused, staying by her side and watching late night television with her as she waited for the next round of nausea to hit. "I think I'm okay now," she told him after brushing her teeth with her own mint toothpaste this time and grabbing a plastic container, just in case she needed it unexpectedly during the night.

They undressed in silence. There was no question of Molly being up to another passion session and Sherlock seemed to understand that. Once they were in bed, he merely gathered her into his arms and she placed her head on his shoulder. For the second night in a row she felt the contentment of being cared for, cherished.

"Goodnight, girlfriend," murmured Sherlock, and she lifted her head to look at his beloved features in the near darkness.

 _I could definitely get used to this,_ she thought dreamily, as Sherlock placed a gentle kiss upon her lips, then stroked her hair soothingly until she fell asleep.

When her alarm went off at five-thirty, Molly groaned. She was tempted to just turn it off and go back to sleep, but she couldn't afford to miss a day of work, unless she was truly sick. She wasn't feeling nauseous anymore, which was a good thing. The time might come though when she was unable to work. Taking days off would just lead to suspicion about her condition, as had happened last time. She was determined to follow Sherlock's instructions about keeping silent about the pregnancy for as long as possible. Hopefully by the time she was showing, he would be able to acknowledge paternity.

She shifted out of Sherlock's embrace and turned off the alarm, then got out of bed and dressed. She was just about to leave the bedroom when Sherlock's voice stopped her. "Are you up to going to work today?"

She turned towards him, feeling her heartbeat accelerate as it always did when she saw him without his shirt. "I'm feeling better. I don't want to take any time off unless I'm really sick. It was the days off that led Mike to realising I was pregnant last time. He knows I rarely take sick days."

He shifted his body sideways and cupped his chin with his hand. "If you're sure. Don't worry about getting Victoria up, I'll take care of her."

She went over to the bed and leaned over to kiss him impulsively. "Thank you, Sherlock."

He gave her a lop-sided smile. "Seeing as you don't need to go to Baker Street before work, I think you have time to kiss me properly." He reached up to pull her down onto him, kissing her passionately for several long minutes, then thrusting her away with a groan. "Bloody hell, Molly, I can never get enough of you."

She knew if she hadn't needed to get to work, he would have made love to her, and was slightly disappointed. She yearned for him as well. "I wish I didn't have to go," she admitted. "Thanks for taking care of me last night."

He sat up, his breathing still a little uneven from the force of their embrace. "You can count on me, Molly."

And, God help her, she believed him. "Could you do me a favour as well, please?" she asked him, fussing with her ponytail which had loosened a little as a result of his hands being in her hair while he kissed her.

"Of course," he responded easily, acting the part of dutiful boyfriend, which pleased her immensely.

"Can you please ask Mrs. Hudson if it would be okay for her to watch Victoria a little longer today, so I can catch up on some sleep after work? If she could watch her until eight o'clock, that would be perfect."

Sherlock nodded."I'll ask her, and if you don't hear from me, you know that's okay. I would watch Victoria myself if it weren't for the fact that I have Lestrade coming over at five o'clock. Apparently he has a very intriguing case for me. I've asked John to join me as well."

Molly's eyes widened. "Do you think it could be the one you're looking for?"

"No idea, guess I'll find out tonight."

As Molly left the bedroom, she hoped with all her heart that this would be the last case that stood between them and a future together.

* * *

 **Author's note:** Of course, if you have seen the whole Sherlock series, you will know what case is coming.

What did you think about Sherlock's idea to make sure Molly wouldn't go off with someone else? A bit paranoid of him? Are you on the edge of your seat to find out what happens next? Did you enjoy the way Mrs. Hudson figured out Molly was pregnant?

Every time I hear from a reader it gives me more motivation to keep publishing in a timely manner. Thanks to those of you who bless me so often!


	31. A Dutiful Boyfriend

Sherlock listened to Molly's movements in the kitchen before she headed to work. He had been very concerned with her sickness of the night before. Was this normal? She said it was, but still, he hated seeing her sick. Molly was one of the strongest, most independent women he knew. He ached to tell her he loved her, but the words just wouldn't come. Despite everything, he was still worried about the future. Even though he had taken the first steps towards a more permanent arrangement between them, asking if she would be his girlfriend, doubt still plagued him. The threat of Moriarty hung over his head like the sword of Damocles. It needed to be resolved first, if he were to keep Molly and their child, no, children now, safe.

Sighing, Sherlock rose from the bed. He could still smell the faint aroma of Molly's jasmine vanilla body lotion she favoured. She had only been gone a few minutes and he already missed her.

Approximately one hour later, he and Victoria were on their way to Baker Street.

He gazed at his daughter thoughtfully as they rode in the taxi. She was such a miniature version of her mother, the same coloured hair, cute little nose, her mother's mouth. If not for the fact she had his eyes, nobody would ever be able to guess he was the father. He wondered briefly whether Mycroft's surveillance would be active at this time of the morning and then shrugged to himself. He was starting to wonder why he had felt the need to keep Victoria's parentage a secret from his brother for so long. Perhaps he should have confided in Mycroft a long time ago, and he could have arranged to keep Molly and Victoria safe. But sometching stubborn inside Sherlock hated to be obligated to his brother. He would always be in Mycroft's debt for getting him into rehab all those years ago, and he knew Mycroft would use every opportunity to embarrass him if he knew Sherlock and Molly had been involved before leaving London. Yes, it would come out soon anyway, but Sherlock didn't really look forward to his brother's condescension, especially in light of Mycroft's personal mantra that " _caring is not an advantage."_

Once Victoria was safely handed over to Mrs. Hudson, and he had made sure she was fine with watching Victoria until eight o'clock in the evening, Sherlock spent the day on his laptop, looking for signs that Moriarty's network had been revived. He found nothing to indicate any criminal activity that matched the methods the consulting criminal employed, much to his frustration.

John arrived shortly before five o'clock, and they waited for Lestrade to arrive.

"How's fatherhood?" Sherlock asked, by way of conversation, already knowing the answer. He could see the shadows under John's eyes, fatigue in the slump of his shoulders.

"Tiring, as you know," replied his friend.

For a moment Sherlock wondered if John had somehow ascertained he was Victoria's father after all and was calling him out on it, then he realised John's comment referred to the fact that he had tried to entertain Rosie in the flat a couple days earlier, as her parents slept, exhausted, on the sofa.

"Uh, yeah, I suppose so." He didn't know really why he didn't want John to know about Victoria being his child. He had told Mary it was because he was worried John would inadvertently be indiscreet with that information, which would lead to Molly and Victoria's lives potentially being put in jeopardy as a result. But, if he were completely honest with himself, it was more the fact that John looked up to him, looked at him as being above such base instincts as enjoying sex and being sentimental. He didn't want to seem weak or human in that way, At least not until there was no further need for secrecy. Besides, John had enough new information to contend with, being a new father.

John opened the door to Lestrade who was armed with the information on the new case. Sherlock closed his eyes as Giles explained the details of the case, picturing the events in his mind. Charlie Welsborough, supposedly in Tibet, dead for a week in his car in the driveway, before a drunk driver smashed into it. Two types of vinyl found in the car, distressingly simple really once you knew the facts, including the father's written statement about the Skype call, that he had asked Charlie if he was alright.

Sherlock stood up to leave, after calling Lestrade Giles, and realising his mistake, looking over to John, who mouthed the word Greg. "Well then, let's help you solve your little problem - _Greg_." No time like the present.

How ironic that Lestrade should then go on to ask John about fatherhood and that they would participate in insulting innuendo, implying he, Sherlock, was a child. Oh, he thought in some amusement, how little did they know, and it reinforced his decision to continue keeping the truth of Victoria from John. Of course, he pretended to be affronted by the men's comments.

On the way into the Welsborough home, he had a short conversation with the always intelligent Mary. Much as he cared for John, sometimes he thought Mary was much too smart for his friend. He glimpsed Rosie through the viewscreen as they FaceTimed, and part of his mind drifted towards Victoria, what a clever child she was, even as they headed into the house to meet the bereaved couple.

Unfortunately, those distracting thoughts of his daughter made him say, "Mr. and Mrs. Welsborough, I really am most terribly sorry to hear about your daughter," before hastily correcting himself with "son" at John's prompt. _God, I really need to keep my head in the game,_ he thought.

As the couple talked, he was suddenly distracted by a table that seemed to have something amiss. He inspected the table, even as his thoughts began to wander again. _What is Molly doing now? Is she feeling better? Is she getting some much-needed sleep? What is Victoria doing with Mrs. Hudson? Should I text Molly and invite her up to my flat for a while after she comes to pick up Victoria?_

Then another idea came to him. Perhaps the best solution would actually be to take Victoria back to Molly's himself, rather than her taking a taxi both ways. He could then spend some time with Victoria and help put her to bed. Sherlock had to admit, he had really enjoyed reading to Victoria the previous evening, and the story had seemed familiar somehow as well, so he was certain it had been one he had read as a child.

He reflected further. Once Victoria was safely in bed and asleep for the night, he and Molly could talk about this latest case and spend some time together without anyone else, namely, Mrs. Hudson, nearby to drop in unexpectedly. Of course, if Molly allowed him to spend the night, he wouldn't complain either.

He had been conversing with John while his thoughts were elsewhere and ended up sounding rather ridiculous, as if he was not aware of who Margaret Thatcher was. God, he sounded like an utter flake. But, yes, there was definitely something amiss, he thought, forcing himself back to the matter at hand.

The missing object was a plaster bust of Margaret Thatcher. This promised to be a much more interesting case than the ho-hum one of Charlie's death.

He rapidly recounted the details of how Charlie had died to the young man's parents, so he could focus on this new, much more interesting case. Why would someone smash a plaster bust of the former prime minister? Was this the one, the case that had been set up by Moriarty? There was no time to lose. He had to go and see Mycroft.

While he was with Mycroft, Sherlock decided to show his brother a picture of John's daughter. It would be the perfect opportunity to make sure Mycroft was unaware of his own activities with Molly. Fortunately, his brother seemed entirely oblivious, and Sherlock went on to discuss Moriarty and what his movements had been during the last year of his life. A singularly unsatisfying conversation ensued, although Mycroft's mention of Moriarty's interest in finding the Black Pearl of the Borgias seemed intriguing.

As Sherlock made his way back to Baker street, he wondered again if this whole smashed plaster bust thing might be connected with Moriarty. It was almost like a premonition he was feeling, that something was coming. His thoughts turned to Molly and Victoria. Ruefully, he realised his initial instinct to keep his distance from Molly had probably been the best thing to avoid distraction from his tasks, but he had chosen a different path and he would deal with it. He would make a determined effort to focus on his work while maintaining this new fragile relationship status with the woman he loved.

No more keeping Molly in the dark about what was coming. He would keep her informed every step of the way as this case progressed. Having made this decision, Sherlock suddenly remembered his idea about taking Victoria back to Molly's. He hoped it wasn't too late to make the suggestion. He checked his watch. Almost seven-thirty. She was probably about to leave, so he decided to call rather than text and pressed the Siri button.

"Call Molly," he instructed and waited as the invisible voice responded with ' _Calling Molly Hooper'_ and placed the call.

"Hello, Sherlock," was her response when she answered on the second ring. "Is something wrong? I was about to leave to get Victoria."

"That's why I'm calling. I'm almost home myself and I thought I'd just bring Victoria over so we can talk about this new case," he told her.

"Oh, so Greg's case is the one you've been waiting for, then?" Her voice was tentative, hopeful.

"Not exactly. I'll explain later, okay?"

She sounded slightly disappointed. "Alright then. Thanks for offering to bring Victoria over. I'll go ahead and get her bath ready. I guess I'll see you in a little while."

"See you then." He disconnected the call.

Upon arrival home, Sherlock went immediately to Mrs. Hudson's flat and knocked on his landlady's door.

Mrs. Hudson looked surprised to see him. "What are you doing here, Sherlock? Weren't you out on a case?"

"I was, but I'm back now," explained Sherlock. "I called Molly and told her I'd take Victoria over to her place so that she doesn't need to make an extra trip."

"Hello, Daddy," Victoria called from where she was sitting at the table looking at a picture book.

Sherlock was a little disappointed she hadn't run up to him as she usually did, but he supposed that was because she had only seen him that morning. Absence tended to make the heart grow fonder and apparently this one had not been long enough to cause her any great longing to see him again.

He walked past Mrs. Hudson to look at the book. "What have you been doing, sweet pea?" he asked his daughter.

"Victoria has been practising her colours, and doing very well, may I add," responded Mrs. Hudson rather proudly.

Sherlock smiled and pointed at the page Victoria was looking at. "What's this colour?" he asked.

"Wed," replied Victoria promptly.

Sherlock flipped to another page. "And this?" He pointed to a yellow shape.

"That's lellow," responded his daughter, looking at him for approval.

Sherlock ruffled her soft hair. "Yellow," he corrected.

Victoria frowned. "That's what I said. Lellow!"

He dropped a kiss on her forehead. "Lellow it is."

"Sherlock, can I heat you up some dinner?" asked Mrs. Hudson, giving the two of them a rather fond look. "Victoria and I had spaghetti. I can pop some in the microwave."

Sherlock looked at his watch again and nodded. "Thanks, but don't bother heating it up. I'll eat it cold."

Mrs. Hudson grinned. "I'm not surprised. Many's the time I have brought you a plate of food, only to find it cold and barely touched later because you were busy with a case and forgot to eat."

Sherlock smirked. "In my defence, you bring me food I haven't asked for, and sometimes I am busy."

Mrs. Hudson huffed in exasperation. "You would have probably starved if it wasn't for me." She might have been exaggerating, but only just.

She went about getting a plate ready for him while Sherlock looked over his daughter's shoulder and she pointed out some of the colours.

"That's gween, like gwasss," she told him, pointing to the green circle. Sherlock looked on indulgently. He did think her little lisp was rather adorable.

"And what shape is it?" he asked, looking at the circle and wondering if she knew the names of shapes as well. "Is it a square?"

"Silly Daddy. It's a circle," she informed him haughtily, and for a moment, he saw a hint of Mycroft in her manner. _Definitely a Holmes,_ he thought.

"Here you go," said Mrs Hudson, putting down a plate of spaghetti on the table next to where Victoria was sitting.

"Thank you," responded Sherlock.

As he ate, he continued to question his daughter on her knowledge and couldn't help being impressed. Of course, he wasn't surprised, but it was still rather validating to have produced this future genius. _Will our next child be as smart?_ he wondered to himself, then thought rather smugly, _With parents like Molly and myself, the odds are definitely good._

After he had finished eating, Sherlock rose and rested a hand on Victoria's little shoulder. "So, how about it, sweetheart. Ready for me to take you home?"

She beamed up at him and nodded.

After Victoria kissed Nanny Hudders goodbye and Sherlock thanked her, he hailed a taxi and they soon arrived at Molly's flat.

Molly opened the door immediately at his knock, it was already almost nine o'clock. "I was starting to worry," she told him reproachfully as he entered, holding Victoria on his hip. She had insisted on being carried from the taxi to the door and she was actually looking rather sleepy by this time.

"Sorry, Molly," he apologised. "Mrs. Hudson offered me some dinner, but we left as soon as I was finished."

"Okay, next time though, just remember a text would be nice if you are going to be later than I expected," she reprimanded him.

His lips curved upwards. "I am still learning the in and outs of being a dutiful boyfriend," he informed Molly who rolled her eyes.

"Come on then," Molly opened her arms for Victoria. "Time for your bath and bed. I'll have to just add some more hot water to the bath."

Sherlock handed over their sleepy daughter and hung his coat on the rack near the door. "Shall I make us a cup of tea?" he suggested.

Molly smiled. "Sounds good." She headed to the bathroom with Victoria, and Sherlock set out to make their tea.

By the time the cups were on the table, he could hear Molly in the bathroom, singing a nursery rhyme.

He walked to the open door and stood nonchalantly in the doorway as Molly sang, "The incy wincey spider climbed up the water spout.."

As Molly continued singing while she washed her daughter's hair, Sherlock's mind drifted briefly to a half-remembered tune using the same sing-song style in a young girl's voice. " _I that am lost, oh who will find me? Deep down below the old beech tree."_ He blinked, trying to recall further, but the memory faded as quickly as it had begun. Must have been some nursery rhyme from his own childhood, he thought, then wondered why the voice had been that of a young girl. Oh well. He shrugged off the memory and returned his thoughts to the present. Molly had finished singing and was helping Victoria out of the bath.

Before long, their daughter was safely tucked in for the night, asleep before Sherlock even had the chance to continue reading that Enid Blyton book. He was a little disappointed. Reading about Moonface and Silky and the Saucepan Man had actually been rather enjoyable, and he had hoped the reading of it might trigger a few more memories from the black hole that represented most of his childhood. Somehow he sensed there was something from his childhood that was important, something that had caused him to become the man he had been before he had met Molly, cold, lacking in emotion. Her influence had changed him, softened him a lot, but there was still something he felt he should know and didn't.

"I can hear you thinking," remarked Molly, as he walked automatically to her table and raised his tea cup to his lips, still ruminating on his past.

"It's nothing," he said dismissively, forcing himself to focus on Molly and smile.

She looked unconvinced but merely said, "If you say so. Why don't you tell me about this new case, then?"

So Sherlock explained about the visit to the Welsborough home and how it had ended up leading him to another case.

"How odd," Molly murmured, sipping from her own tea cup. "If this person was looking for something, I assume there's a reason he or she thinks it is housed in a bust of Margaret Thatcher."

Sherlock, whose fingers had been idly tapping on the table as he frowned in concentration at his thoughts, looked up. "My God, Molly. That certainly makes sense. I suppose we will have to wait and see if there are any more incidents. Always knew there was a reason I love-" he added hastily "working with you."

Molly's cheeks turned pink at his praise and Sherlock cursed himself for almost letting those fateful words slip out, that he loved her. He'd caught himself just in time. He had to stick to his plan, to wait until he was free to propose. If this case turned out to be the one his was waiting on, he shouldn't have to wait much longer.

"Finished with your tea?" Molly asked after a short silence where they were both lost in thought.

He drained the cup and set it down. "I am now."

Molly picked up her cup, walked around the table and collected his, then went over to the sink.

Sherlock followed her, wrapping his arms around her from behind as she put the cups in the sink.

"You should probably head back to Baker Street now," she said, then let out a little gasp as he swept her hair away from her neck to press a kiss to the exposed skin.

"You know, Molly," he said silkily, feeling he really needed to spend some quality time with her, kissing her, doing other pleasurable things with her, "whether I sleep here or there makes no difference, I am not planning to do any more work on this case tonight. Also, I can take Victoria back to Baker Street with me in the morning again to save you a trip."

His hands lifted to knead her shoulders gently and she unconsciously leaned back into him.

"Sherlock, tomorrow's Saturday, I'm not working, so I don't need to take Victoria over to Mrs. Hudson."

"Confound it, woman," he growled in her ear, dropping his hands to his sides, "are you _trying_ to get rid of me?"

She turned around then to face him. "Of course not. I just don't want you to feel pressured into playing the part of boyfriend when you are trying to keep it a secret."

He looked down at her, lifting a hand to trace the curve of her lower lip with his thumb. "Nobody's forcing me to do anything. If this case is going to occupy my time for awhile, I may not be able to spend any time with you until it has concluded. Tonight, at any rate, I am free."

He could see her chest rising and falling rapidly beneath her blouse and knew he was affecting her, so he pressed his advantage, reaching a hand to pull her against him and dipping his head to brush his lips over hers, gently at first, then more possessively as he felt her mouth open beneath his. And when she gave a soft little murmur against his lips and reached up to feather her fingers through his curls, he knew he had won. Molly was his, she always would be, and he felt that primal urge to claim her as his own, that same desire that rose within him every time he kissed her.

When Sherlock guided her backwards towards her bedroom, she made no protest. He paused only long enough at the door to the bedroom to close it behind him and lock it, then propelled her backward again, still kissing her. When her legs were against the frame of the bed, she obligingly sat, pulling him down with her so they could continue kissing one another.

The embers of desire that were always present when they were this close burst into flame and for some time they allowed themselves to be swept along by it, fueling that fire with their touches and caresses. And following their fall into the abyss of mutual fulfillment and fatigue, Sherlock's arm rested protectively over Molly's abdomen, its slight tautness just beginning to show the signs of the life being nurtured within.

"My dating scan for the baby is next week," murmured Molly sleepily, as he stroked the gentle swell.

He sighed. "I wish I could be there for it. I think I remember Mary saying something about having two scans, will you have another one I can attend later?"

"Mhm, there's another you get between eighteen and twenty weeks. It's called an anomaly scan and that's usually when you can find out the sex of your baby if you want to know it," she explained, shifting slightly in his arms.

Sherlock frowned slightly. "Anomaly scan?"

"Yeah, you know, where they determine if there are any issues with the baby like Down's Syndrome or other developmental issues."

He stopped rubbing her belly. "Why would it make a difference if there's a problem?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"Well, some women choose to abort their baby if they feel they can't deal with a child who has developmental issues. To me, a baby is a gift from God, whether there are physical or potential intellectual issues or not. I want our baby, Sherlock."

He resumed stroking her belly. "Me too. Do you want to find out if we are having a boy or girl?"

She shifted to face him properly. "I'd like to. If it's another girl, I already have the clothes, although I'd have to get the baby ones back from Mary. If It's a boy, I'll need a whole wardrobe for him. Do you...do you want to know what we are having?"

He bent his head to give her a tender kiss. "I think I'd like to know too."

She smiled at him, then turned again so they were back in spooning position and he placed his left arm around her properly and rested his hand over hers where it lay in front of her.

Just before he drifted off, he imagined Molly murmuring, "I love you," and a slight smile curved his lips as sleep claimed him.

* * *

 **Author's note:** I hope you enjoyed the way I showed the Welsborough case, incorporating Sherlock thinking about Victoria and Molly, having thoughts of them be what distracted him. After all, he was acting quite distracted in the actual show!

I admit, I used a bit of real life experience in the scene with Sherlock and Victoria where he is asking her about colours. My middle daughter used to say lellow instead of yellow and she had a lisp. I love showing this clever little toddler!

Here too I did a bit of foreshadowing with the nursery rhyme and how it made Sherlock think of the song that has been haunting him from time to time.

I hope you enjoyed a calmer, sweeter chapter with an abundance of tenderness.


	32. The Calm Before the Storm

Molly nestled closer into Sherlock's arms, feeling utterly content. After weeks of not knowing where things stood, Sherlock was acting the part of a man committed to her and his family.

The way he had opened up to her about this case showed that he trusted her and wanted her input. It was a good feeling to feel wanted again for her intellect as well as her body. Molly sincerely hoped that this case was the one he had been waiting for, the one that would end this need for secrecy. And the way he had said he loved working with her. Her heart had leapt as he had mentioned he always knew there was a reason he loved...working with her. Was it wishful thinking that he had seemed to pause after the word love, almost as if he had been about to confess that he loved _her_?

Talking about their baby and the way he had expressed interest in being there for her second scan also filled Molly with hope. He certainly would not be able to come unless their relationship by then had been made public.

She felt Sherlock's breathing become even and deep. Knowing he was past the point in which he would hear her, she softly expressed the words in her own heart, "I love you," before sleep claimed her as well.

She woke in the middle of the night to feel Sherlock's lips at her ear, and his hand tracing a line along the side of her body so lightly that she giggled at the gentle touch.

"You are utterly intoxicating, Molly," he murmured, as he pressed a kiss to the hollow beneath her ear. She couldn't help thrilling at his words, turning to face him so they could share a searing kiss. She knew Sherlock was a man who focussed completely when he was on a case, but now he was focussed on her just as completely. He held nothing back from her in the way he touched her, kissed her, made love to her. Well, nothing except those three little words she longed to hear from his lips that she was unsure would ever come. For now though, she was utterly content to be in his arms again. She felt loved and in her heart she felt he did love her in his own way as well, even if he would not acknowledge the words. Perhaps one day he would say them, once he felt comfortable enough to acknowledge their relationship as well to the world. Only time would tell.

When Molly woke again, it was to the sound of Victoria calling her name from outside the bedroom door and turning the handle, which she remembered thankfully that Sherlock had locked.

"Mummy, let me in!" demanded the child who had never been confronted with a locked bedroom door before. Molly had always left her door unlocked in case Victoria wanted to come in and cuddle with her in the middle of the night, as happened on the odd occasion.

"Mummy's coming," she called softly. Sherlock was still deeply asleep as she gently disengaged his arm from around her. She looked at the way sleep softened all those little lines around his face. His lips were slightly parted and she longed to kiss him, but knew if she didn't hurry, Victoria would get impatient.

She dressed hastily and slipped out of the bedroom, even as Victoria asked, "Daddy still sleeping?"

Molly wondered how Victoria knew Sherlock was still there. "How do you know Daddy is still here?" she questioned her daughter.

Victoria pointed to his coat. "Daddy's coat," she proclaimed and Molly smiled. Oh yes, her daughter was developing the keen observational skills of her father indeed!

Molly placed her hand on Victoria's head. "Clever girl. Yes, Daddy is still sleeping."

Victoria beamed. "Daddy stay forwever now?"

Molly's lips tilted upwards. "Not yet, sweetheart. But maybe one day." After the night she and Sherlock had just spent together, she felt convinced that eventually he would wish to combine their households. She was definitely enjoying the feeling of having him in bed beside her at night. She felt so protected, loved.

She was still smiling dreamily at the thought when Victoria tugged her hand. "Mummy, bweakfast!" and Molly returned to reality.

She placed bread in the toaster and was making scrambled eggs with bacon when Sherlock appeared, hair still tousled and wearing his blue dressing gown. Molly wondered how a man could emerge from sleep and still look so incredibly gorgeous. She felt decidedly frumpy with her as yet unbrushed hair.

"Good morning," he said, yawning and stretching, exposing an expanse of bare chest between the unbelted edges of his dressing gown as he did so, which made Molly's heartbeat immediately accelerate.

Victoria folded her little arms and looked over at him. "Daddy not dwessed."

Molly turned off the stove and put the toast onto plates as Sherlock responded indulgently to his daughter, "Daddy will get dressed after breakfast. The smell of bacon made me hungry."

Without asking, Sherlock went over to the counter and began buttering the toast, then cutting up the pieces for Victoria.

Molly had already made their coffee and poured some juice for Victoria, and soon the three of them sat down to eat at the table. It was the first time they had sat together as a family at the table, Molly reflected. When Sherlock had been staying with her after his gunshot wound, Victoria had still been in her highchair. This felt different somehow, more domesticated. _I could definitely get used to this,_ she reflected, almost dizzy with the joy that filled her at the prospect.

After breakfast, Sherlock rose reluctantly from the table. "I suppose I should get dressed and head back home," he remarked.

Victoria frowned and banged her fist on the table. "Daddy stay home here," she demanded and he blinked at her, as if unsure of what to say.

"Victoria," Molly chided gently, "you must not get cross with Daddy. You know he doesn't live here and he has a lot of work to do."

Victoria's lips trembled and Molly could see tears forming in her eyes. "Want Daddy to stay with us."

Sherlock walked over to her and got to his knees, placing his arms around her and hugging her. "Daddy has to work now, but we will talk about that sometime, soon, okay?" His voice was gentle, comforting, and Molly's heart leapt at the words. She knew he was probably just trying to placate their daughter, but perhaps he was considering it himself as she had thought about earlier.

A tear fell from Victoria's eyelashes. "Soon? Pwomise?"

"Soon, sweet pea, I promise," responded Sherlock, kissing her forehead before standing once again. He looked over at Molly who was collecting their empty plates. Almost as if he could read her thoughts, he said. "I mean it, Molly. Long-term plans, remember?" His lips pulled upwards and she smiled. He was definitely saying all the right things.

Sherlock left soon afterwards, with assurances that he would keep Molly updated about the case and a last lingering kiss to her following a kiss to his daughter's cheek.

Over the next few days, life returned to the way it had been before Sherlock spent those nights with her, but this time he kept his word. He told her that two more plaster busts had been smashed and that there was blood on one of them. The blood apparently belonged to the perpetrator of the crime and Sherlock said he was going out with John and Mary to see if he could track down the culprit.

Molly thought it was ironic that he was enlisting the services of a dog named Toby, as her own cat had been named, when he explained this information to her.

Unfortunately, that investigation led nowhere, the person had covered their tracks too well.

Molly had her scan and saw the new baby for the first time, confirming her due date for September, as she expected. She wished Sherlock could have been with her but felt hopeful that things would be different next time. Her text to Sherlock about it generated a response that made her smile.

"I wish I'd been there. Next time, things will be different."

On Friday, Sherlock let Molly know about another smashed bust and the fact that this time, murder was involved. His computer hacker friend who owned the dog, Toby, was able to determine that there was a collection of six Margaret Thatcher busts that had been manufactured in Tbilisi, Georgia. Because two of the busts belonged to the murdered woman, that left only one, and Sherlock was hoping the person had not yet found what they were looking for.

Molly was on the Tube, making her way to pick up Victoria from Baker Street when he disclosed this information. Her eyes widened at his next text.

 _I'm leaving the murder scene now. I've been doing some research and I believe what the person is looking for is a missing pearl that Interpol has been looking for. Moriarty was connected with this before he died._

Molly was relieved. It certainly sounded like this was the case he had been waiting for.

 _So what are you going to do now?_ she texted back.

 _There's only one bust left and it is in Reading. I will be heading there tonight in the hopes that the thief will be impatient to wrap things up and get his prize._

Molly bit her lip as she responded.

 _Please be careful, Sherlock._

His response was reassuring.

 _Don't worry, there will be police back up for me. Lestrade will have his men in hiding, waiting for my signal. With a little bit of luck, this will be over tonight._

Molly drew in her breath. She couldn't help the ripple of excitement that flooded through her. If Sherlock was right about his theory, tonight could be their new beginning.

Adrenaline made her fingers tremble slightly as she texted, _I'll be praying for you. Let me know what happens._

 _I can do better than that, Molly. If the criminal makes his move, I'll come over to your flat afterwards and tell you all about it._

Molly smiled to herself. That definitely sounded promising.

 _I'll be waiting._

That evening, after she put Victoria to bed, Molly waited to hear from Sherlock. She knew it was unlikely things would happen too quickly if the criminal made a move. Undoubtedly, he would wish to wait until it was dark and the family who owned the bust was in bed.

Molly considered staying dressed to wait for Sherlock, but in the end decided to take her shower and get ready for bed. After she got out of the shower she checked her phone and was not surprised to see there were no messages. She switched on the television and started flipping channels, moving from one late night show to another, unable to concentrate on any. She glanced at her phone multiple times, willing it to make the sound that indicated she had a text, or hoping to hear a knock at the door.

At ten-thirty, she took a blanket and lay on the sofa. She wondered if perhaps the intruder had decided not to attempt a theft this evening, or if perhaps he had, after all, found what he was looking for in the busts he had destroyed earlier that day. There had been two of them, after all. Her eyes grew heavy and she fell asleep.

Molly was startled awake by the sound of a door being opened and was, for a moment, scared.

Then, Sherlock's voice came from the near darkness. "It's only me, Molly. I thought I'd let myself in."

Molly sat up as Sherlock turned on the light and took off his coat. What she saw made her gasp. "You're soaking wet!" she exclaimed. "What on earth happened to you?"

"He gave her a pained smile. "Things did not go exactly as I anticipated."

"Apparently not," she responded, standing up. "You had best take a shower or you'll catch your death of a cold." Without waiting for an answer, she walked over to Sherlock and unbuttoned his jacket, which was no easy feat, considering it was soaked.

"Molly Hooper," he asked in his deep, sexy baritone, "are you planning on seducing me?"

Molly blushed. "Don't be silly, Sherlock. I'm just trying to help you."

He gave her another heart-stopping glance. "You could always help me, by joining me in the shower," he suggested, adding, "It has been a few days, after all."

Molly coloured again. She knew he was not talking about it being a few days since he had showered.

She stepped back. "I've already had a shower," she pointed out, indicating her dressing gown that was covering her chemise.

He pouted "You could be doubly clean?" At her glare, he backed down. "Fine, I'll behave - but I might _mis_ behave afterwards. No promises." He leered at her.

Molly giggled and put her hands on her hips. "Go on, then. I'll get you more clothes. Just as well you left some here when you were staying with me."

He smirked. "Ulterior motives, my sweet. Oh, don't bother with clothes, just a pair of boxers will do - unless you plan on sending me away in the middle of the night after I've told you what happened?"

Molly swallowed. She'd been half-hoping he'd request to stay, but had not wanted to take it for granted. "Victoria will be very happy to see you in the morning," she responded primly.

Instead of commenting on that, he pulled her towards him and offered her a long overdue, sensual kiss that made her forget that he was now making her dressing gown wet.

Of course, she felt the cold wetness seeping through the dressing gown when the kiss ended. "Now look what you've done," she chided. "You got me all wet."

Sherlock Swept his gaze down her body. "Promises, promises, Molly" he murmured and her face flamed. This was not like Sherlock to use sexy innuendo in that manner and she couldn't help the note of suspicion entering her voice.

"Are you high?"

He sobered immediately and looked shocked. "God no, Molly," he exclaimed. "Merely thankful. I could have died tonight, probably would have if Lestrade hadn't been there with his men."

Molly looked at him, horrified. "What happened?" she asked, then remembered he was standing there in front of her still wet. "Never mind," she said quickly, "you can explain after your shower."

He nodded and headed off to her bathroom while she found an extra pair of boxers and a fresh towel for him and dropped them just inside the door to the bathroom while he showered. Much as she would have liked to join him, she still felt too shy. It was one thing to share a bed, a shower was something else entirely.

Feeling there might be a long explanation to come, Molly prepared two cups of coffee, glancing at the clock on the wall and seeing it was already past midnight. She set the cups on the coffee table in front of the sofa. If she was going to have to listen to a long story, she wanted to be comfortable. She shivered a little. The damp dressing gown was making her feel cold so she removed it then grabbed her blanket which had dropped to the floor when she had stood earlier, and wrapped it about herself, then waited.

While Sherlock was in the shower, she heard a ping and determined it was coming from his coat pocket.

A few minutes later, Sherlock emerged, his hair still damp and rioting around his head in a way that made her want to run her fingers through it. The sight of his bare chest made her mouth run dry and too late she realised she should have brought in his blue dressing gown which was still in her bedroom wardrobe. Sherlock, however, seemed unaware of the effect he was having on her. He walked to the sofa and sat next to her. "Care to share your blanket?" he asked and she complied, lifting it so he could wrap it around himself as well. Too bad he only wrapped it around his waist and his glorious, lightly toned pectorals were still clearly visible.

He grinned at her when he noticed her eyes straying to his chest and she licked her lips. "Um, I guess you should tell me now what happened tonight." Then she suddenly remembered the sound she had heard from Sherlock's phone. "Actually, you got a text while you were in the shower, so you should take a look at that first."

"And just when I'd made myself comfortable," he grumbled, but stood and went to his coat, retrieving his phone and reading the text.

Molly looked over at him expectantly. "Lestrade," he told her. "They are still looking for the man. Gavin said he'll pop into Baker Street in the morning to discuss things. Guess I won't be staying the night after all." Molly couldn't help feeling a little disappointed, but she perked up slightly when he added, "Well, not the _whole_ night anyway." She had to suppress a small smile at Sherlock still being unable to remember poor Greg's first name, but didn't bother to correct him on this occasion.

Sherlock returned to the sofa and she held up the blanket for him to slide beneath again. As they drank their coffee, he explained what had happened at the Sandeford residence.

Molly gasped when he told her of the altercation between the intruder and himself, the way they had ended up in a pool and he had almost been drowned.

He told her about getting the upper hand by smashing the sought after plaster bust against the man's head.

"Molly, I was certain the Black Pearl of the Borgias which has eluded Interpol for several years was in there. All the clues seemed to fit." He heaved a sigh.

"It wasn't?" queried Molly. "Well, what was he after then?"

Sherlock closed his eyes briefly and then looked at her soberly. "It seems I was mistaken about this case having anything to do with Moriarty. Instead it has _everything_ to do with Mary's past. There was a memory stick in the bust."

Molly's brow furrowed. "A memory stick? What does that have to do with Mary?"

He explained to her what he knew about Mary's past as a special operations operative and the fact that she had a connection to the man who had been seeking the memory stick, which was apparently his own. Mary had had a similar one which had been destroyed.

Molly felt her heart sink at his words and she clenched her hands together beneath the blanket. So much for the hope she had felt earlier that this might almost be over. Her voice trembled slightly as she asked, "So what now? What does this mean?"

Sherlock lifted his thumb and forefinger and pinched the bridge of his nose. "It means I need to talk to Mary and find out why this man is after her. I made a vow to protect her, Molly. I can't go back on that."

Molly felt the tears prick her eyes. "I understand, Sherlock. You solve this case and then you'll keep waiting for the one from Moriarty."

She slumped backwards then against the sofa, defeated, and closed her eyes, feeling a stray tear escape. Then she felt Sherlock shift his position . "Listen to me, Molly," he said urgently. "I'm done with this."

Molly's eyes snapped open, and she gave him a shocked look, then bit her lip. What did he mean? Did he mean he was giving up on their dream of being together, giving up on those long-term plans?

Sherlock seemed to sense her thoughts. "Don't look at me like that. It's not what you're thinking. I mean, I'm done with this waiting. I've allowed Moriarty to dictate the terms of my life for far too long and I'll be damned if I let him keep doing it when he's been dead for years."

She gave him a more hopeful look. "Are you saying-"

He didn't let her finish. "I'm saying that as soon as I sort this thing out with Mary, we're going public with our relationship and to hell with the consequences. If I have to ask Mycroft to protect you, I will. If we have to move in together, so I can protect you, we can do that too." He thrust a hand through his hair, suddenly a little flustered. "That is, if you even would want to move into Baker Street. I mean, we'd have to figure out what to do about a room for Victoria, but there is a spare room upstairs now and-"

Molly didn't let him finish, but flung her arms around his neck and pulled him close. "We'll figure something out."

His lips found hers then and they kissed ardently. Molly felt as if she were in a dream. Had Sherlock really made the suggestion that she move in with him? More than ever, she felt secure about their relationship and their future together.

When Sherlock's hand slid to the strap of her chemise and slid it down to press kisses to her shoulder, Molly said rather breathlessly, "We should probably move this to somewhere more comfortable."

For answer, Sherlock tossed the blanket aside and picked her up into his arms, carrying her to the bedroom, where he proceeded to show her quite clearly that he too was hopeful for their future together.

Quite some time later, Sherlock stroked Molly's hair. "I suppose I should get going so that I can be home before Lestrade turns up."

Molly sighed and placed a kiss to his chest. "I'm sorry Victoria won't get to see you after all."

"I'll make up for it soon," he promised, and kissed her again before sliding out of bed. He walked to her wardrobe and selected clothes while Molly looked on.

"I'll get your wet clothes dry-cleaned," she told him. She slid out of bed and put on her discarded chemise and knickers then padded into the kitchen to call a taxi for Sherlock. At this time of night he could be waiting for ages for one otherwise. Sherlock might have a knack for being able to stop any passing taxi, but even he couldn't make one appear out of nowhere.

Sherlock exited the bedroom just as she hung up the phone and he looked at her questioningly.

"I called a taxi for you. It should be here in ten minutes."

He smiled at her. "Thanks, I hadn't even thought of that." He walked over to his Belstaff and took it, then made an exclamation of annoyance. "I'll have to leave this here for now too. It's still wet on the inside."

Molly's lips quirked. "I assume you still have extra coats at Baker Street?"

He chuckled. "Of course." He walked to her and slipped his arms around her waist. "I'm sorry I can't stay. You know I would have if it weren't for Lestrade, Don't you?" He brushed his lips against hers briefly.

"I know. Just let me know what's going on. I hope the police catch that man."

Sherlock's lips pursed. "They won't. He's a professional. He escaped after setting off the security alarm with a bullet from his gun once the police tried to get him to come out peacefully. Before that, he had the gun trained on me."

Molly gave a horrified exclamation. "You didn't tell me he threatened to shoot you!"

"Oh, didn't I?" Sherlock said absently. "It was when I was distracted by the memory stick and picked it up. He took my by surprise."

"Thank God, Lestrade was there, then!" Molly told him earnestly.

'Thank God indeed," he responded, and for the first time, Molly thought he wasn't trying to make fun of the idea.

Sherlock grabbed his scarf which had not been subjected to the indignities of being soaked, and wound it around his neck. It looked rather silly without the coat as well but she supposed it was better than nothing.

The taxi turned up minutes later and Sherlock left the flat. "Give Victoria a kiss for me. I'll text you later," he promised and gave her a last, fleeting kiss goodbye.

Molly watched the man she loved get into the taxi and with a sigh, headed off to her bed, alone this time.

* * *

 **Author's note:** Okay, I admit it, I did a teeny bit of canon divergence. After spending hours re-watching the episode and pausing frequently to make sure I had the details right for the chapter, supposedly all that action with Ajay, the talk with Lestrade and Sherlock's confrontation with Mary took place in the same night (he tells Mary "I met someone tonight"). Really, it seems a bit odd that all that could happen in the same night, especially in light of the fact it is past 10pm when Ajay sneaks into the house, I mean what? Sherlock just texts Mary in the middle of the night and he prepares this whole room and she comes to him? Also, according to Google, Reading-London is 48 minutes by taxi. Really poor scriptwriting IMO, so I am just going to say the Lestrade thing and meeting with Mary take place the following day/night).

As you can see, I am meticulous when it comes to research for my stories.

Anyway, I'd love to hear from my readers with their thoughts and theories about this chapter and how they perceive the events of that night when Sherlock realizes that once again, he's made an error. I do like the idea of him coming to see Molly afterwards even though I'm sure it would not have happened in the canon. But in this version they are so attuned that I felt he would want to talk with her afterwards, to keep her apprised of what is going on.

What did you think about Sherlock finally deciding he wants to just move his relationship forward with Molly? I felt that by this point he was really starting to regret all the secrecy.


	33. The Eye of the Storm

Sherlock settled back into the seat of the taxi with a sigh. He was disappointed he couldn't stay the night with Molly after all. The last thing he wanted to do was make it seem like he was only there for sex, although he was sure Molly knew that wasn't the case. It was just annoying. He'd been looking forward to spending the night with her in his arms after not seeing her for a week, especially in light of what had happened that evening.

He was still angry with himself for completely miscalculating the reasons behind the smashing of the Margaret Thatcher busts. He had been so _sure_ it was the Black Pearl of the Borgias that Moriarty had been interested in, everything had seemed to fit. It was highly embarrassing to make those smug deductions in front of that man and then be totally wrong. The man had not even had a clue who Moriarty was.

The struggle in the pool had caused Sherlock to confront his own mortality and the thought of leaving Molly behind. As if that wasn't enough, when the man had trained a gun on him, Sherlock had suddenly feared for his life although he didn't show any outward sign of it. He was grateful he had arranged for backup and that Lestrade had obviously been alerted by the sound of smashing glass to take action. The man was a murderer and Sherlock knew he would have had no qualms in firing a fatal shot. The fact that things had happened in a timely manner to save Sherlock had really caused him to reevaluate his own thoughts on God and coincidence. Although he had said nothing to Molly, something had changed inside Sherlock at that moment. He had finally acknowledged to himself that there was a God.

As Sherlock rode to Molly's flat earlier that night, rather than Baker Street, he had made a firm decision. Life was too short to waste in constant fear of the future. He had an obligation to Mary, in the vow he had made to protect her, and he knew he needed to see this case through, but as soon as it was successfully completed, he was going to take his mother's advice from months earlier - to "reach for it with both hands," his own happiness, his future with Molly. Yes, the engagement ring was burning a hole in his bedside drawer, ready to be used as soon as the mystery surrounding Mary was exposed and he was able to ensure her safety.

Sherlock pulled out of his pocket the memory stick which he had retrieved from his sodden trousers before leaving and looked at the initials marked on it - A.G.R.A. _Tomorrow I will send Mary a text and find out exactly what this secret is about her past,_ he thought. Yes, she certainly had some explaining to do about why someone wanted to kill her.

As soon as Sherlock arrived home, he went to his bedroom. He would only get a few hours sleep and tomorrow, well, today, would be a busy day.

Just before he drifted off, he looked at the framed photos on his bedside table as he always did. "Soon, Molly," he told the smiling images.

As expected, when Lestrade _Giles? Greg?_ arrived in the morning, the news was not good. The man had eluded capture and all attempts to find him had been unsuccessful. Mary was Sherlock's only option now to discover what was going on, and he had to warn her that the man was after her. Yes, he had the memory stick but he inserted it into his laptop and then felt it would be a gross invasion of privacy to give it more than a cursory glance. He did save the images he found though of the man who had accosted him so he could ask Mary about the assailant's identity.

Then he sent a text to Mary with instructions on meeting him that evening at one of his bolt-holes, the crypt attached to an old church.

Sherlock spent the day with a sense of heightened anticipation. Would Mary follow his instructions? If she did, Sherlock had a feeling she would try and flee, so he carefully attached a tracer to the memory stick.

Sherlock headed to the location in the evening as a storm was brewing, reaching the inside just before it hit. Thunder and lightning along with pouring rain made for a rather fitting accompaniment to the gravity of the situation, he reflected, as he waited for Mary to arrive.

He was pleased when Mary did arrive and subsequently filled him in on all the details he had been missing. Now he could move forward with the case. He was rather unsurprised that in her paranoia Mary did as he expected, she found a way to incapacitate him and flee. Just before he drifted into unconsciousness, he had a vision of his childhood dog, Redbeard, and a child in a pirate hat, and briefly, another child. _Who was the girl singing the tune though?_ he wondered before darkness claimed him.

When he emerged from unconsciousness, feeling disoriented for a moment, he saw the memory stick had been removed from his laptop, as he had expected. He needed to seek further help - from Mycroft.

After Mycroft reluctantly divulged the information about A.G.R.A. and Sherlock explained that Ajay was after Mary for some reason, the detective also told his brother the one clue he had been given by Ajay - "Ammo" and was given assurance that Mycroft would look into the matter. Satisfied, Sherlock returned home.

The following morning, Sherlock was not surprised to get a panicked phone call from John, who had woken up to find a letter from Mary on his pillow.

"No need to panic, John. I anticipated something like this happening," he soothed his friend and went on to explain what had transpired the previous evening.

"We have to go after her!" exclaimed John, once Sherlock had finished talking.

"Not yet. She will undoubtedly move around for awhile to try and make sure nobody can follow. We'll just wait until she stays in one place for more than a day. Besides, you need to think of Rosie," Sherlock told John firmly.

"But how can we keep track of her movements if we don't follow her?" John demanded.

"Don't worry about that," Sherlock assured his friend. "I placed a tracking device onto the memory stick, so I will know where she is at all times."

John's voice was admiring when he said, "I should have known you'd be prepared for any contingency."

Sherlock smiled smugly as he responded. "I'm Sherlock Holmes, it's what I do."

"All right then, Sherlock, we'll do this your way," agreed John.

For over a week, Sherlock tracked Mary from country to country, marvelling at her ingenuity. Undoubtedly she still had contacts somewhere if she could travel incognito that way. Much as Sherlock wanted to spend time with Molly, it wasn't possible, although he kept in frequent contact with her, told her everything that was going on with Mary. He was determined there would be no more secrets between them. John had moved in temporarily with Rosie so that Mrs. Hudson could take care of her while he was at work. The landlady was not privy to the reason for Mary's absence, just knew that she had had to leave London unexpectedly.

Sherlock volunteered to take the infant to Mrs. Hudson each day while John went to work. This gave him the opportunity to spend some time with Victoria as well. Victoria adored the newborn and Sherlock looked forward to the time he would be able to tell his daughter she was going to be a big sister. By the way she was fascinated with Rosie, he knew she would be a good one.

At the end of the first week, Mrs. Hudson told John apologetically that she would not be available for babysitting the following week. Her sister had invited her on a holiday to Corfu in Greece for a week.

This news was of some concern to Sherlock, who wondered what Molly was going to do with Victoria while Mrs. Hudson was gone. He was quite surprised and rather pleased that Molly had found a solution. Sherlock's parents were coming up to London on Sunday and taking Victoria back to Sussex to spend the week with them. With John in residence at Baker Street, Sherlock was unable to sneak out to see his parents, so he had to be content with a text from Molly, letting him know that Victoria had been safely delivered into the hands of her grandparents.

A couple days later, it seemed Mary had ensconced herself in Marrakech, Morocco. It was time to go and bring her home. Arrangements were made for Rosie to remain with Stella and Ted. Stella, who happened to be Mike Stamford's sister, whose telegram Sherlock had read aloud at John's wedding, was a licensed at-home child minder. Her husband Ted had major leg issues and was unable to work, so she was the primary income earner. Sherlock made a mental note that if he and Molly ever needed someone in the future to watch Victoria or the new baby and Mrs. Hudson was not available, he would suggest that she use Stella.

While John went back to his flat to pack a few things for the journey and meet Sherlock later in the afternoon at the airport, the detective packed his own bag and headed to the hospital to see Molly at work. He knew he couldn't leave without at least saying goodbye.

He found her, thankfully alone, in the lab, looking into a microscope, studying a slide.

"Molly," he said softly, putting down his bag and she raised her head, startled.

"Sherlock! What are you doing here?" She stripped off the gloves she had been wearing as she spoke.

He didn't bother to answer but strode towards her, took her in his arms and kissed her. God, how he'd missed her. Communicating via text was better than nothing, of course, but that wasn't the same as seeing her, touching her. He was very glad nobody else was in the lab, he reflected as he moulded Molly's body possessively into his, feeling her arms come around him to embrace him just as fiercely. If anyone had been around their secret would well and truly have been out, and at that point he thought it worth the risk. Soon enough it would be common knowledge that they were together, especially if she was wearing his ring. Finally when their lips parted he murmured, "I've missed you."

"I've missed you too," she responded, her eyes slightly unfocussed and dilated from the passion of their kiss. She was always absolutely captivating when her cheeks were flushed and lips were swollen from his kisses. His heart was so full of love for her he almost burst out with the words, to confess them once and for all, but he remembered he wanted to just wait a little longer and finish the case first. He also needed to respond to Molly's earlier question from when he had arrived.

His grip on her loosened somewhat although he still held his hands loosely at her waist, needing the contact. "As you know, I've been tracking Mary over the past several days. She has gone to ground in Morocco," he explained. "I'm meeting John at the airport shortly but I didn't want to leave without saying goodbye."

"I'm glad," she responded, raising a hand to his cheek. "Although you are certainly being a risk-taker in coming in here and kissing me. What if someone had come in? I don't think you would have been able to talk your way out of that situation."

Sherlock shrugged. "People will know soon anyway. I calculated the risk of someone coming in and decided it was worth it." He reached his own hand up to cover hers where it rested against his cheek, then slid it so he could kiss her palm, before releasing it. "We're in the home stretch, Molly." His eyes drifted downwards and he moved his other hand to touch her abdomen gently. It had been over ten days since they had seen one another. Did her belly look slightly larger? He fancied it did, although to the casual observer, she still did not look pregnant. "I'm sorry I couldn't be at your scan. How have you been? Have you had any more sickness?"

She sighed. "Good days and bad days, Sherlock." She gave him a wry smile. "It's Victoria all over again, but on the up-side, being sick a lot is supposed to be a good sign for a healthy baby."

"Does that mean you believe we are having another girl?" Sherlock asked with interest. With the way Victoria behaved towards Rosie, he thought that would be a rather good thing.

Molly smiled at him. "I'm not making any assumptions. I'll have to wait for the next scan to see about that."

"Have you made an appointment yet?" he asked, stroking a thumb along her side braid. She'd have to teach him how to do that, or better yet, he'd have to learn how to do it on YouTube so he could do it for her in future.

"Yes, it's already scheduled for the last week of April," she told him.

He nodded. "Good. That gives us plenty of time to make our relationship official, and I will be able to publicly acknowledge the baby as mine."

Her eyes were shining as she responded, "I can't wait, Sherlock."

He dipped his head once again and covered her mouth with his own, kissing her passionately, conveying his own hope for their future.

Finally, reluctantly, he released her. "I had better go or I'll be late to the airport. I shouldn't be gone more than a day or two at most."

"Alright, I'll be praying for you," was her response and Sherlock smiled. He was not at all surprised by her words.

"I know you will be. Thank you, sweetheart." The word slipped out before he could stop it, but he didn't really care. She _was_ his girlfriend after all, his sweetheart. The smile she gave him in return was dazzling.

He gave her a last wave goodbye, picking up his discarded travel bag as she reached for her gloves to resume her work. Then he walked briskly to the lift and subsequently headed for the airport.

Once Sherlock and John had boarded the plane, he drifted off into his mind palace. As soon as Mary was successfully retrieved, he planned to extract as much information about Ajay as possible from her as well as have her recount exactly what had happened in Tbilisi. He would get to the bottom of things and resolve the situation as soon as he had the rest of the puzzle pieces. He would discover who had betrayed her team and then find a way to get to Ajay to assure him of Mary's innocence.

With those plans settled, Sherlock allowed himself to daydream about the family he was going to have with Molly very soon. The closer he came to a resolution of this case, the more impatient he felt about it.

John obviously noticed the smile on his lips that he couldn't suppress.

"You're looking rather satisfied with yourself," his friend remarked. "Have you figured everything out about what we are going to do when we get there?"

"Indeed I have," responded Sherlock. "Once this situation is resolved, I have important plans to make."

John quirked an eyebrow. "Important plans? Like whether you plan on moving my chair again from where it is blocking your view of the kitchen?" he quipped.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Of course not. I'm talking about changes in my _personal_ life."

John narrowed his eyes. "Since when do you have a personal life? Your life revolves around your work."

Sherlock folded his arms defensively. "Perhaps you don't know everything about me, John. It is time for me to take stock of my life and think about the future. I am almost forty, after all."

John grinned and punched his arm playfully. "You're catching up to me. Are you ever going to tell me when your birthday is?"

"Wasn't planning on it," responded Sherlock with a smirk.

"So, life changes, huh?" said John curiously, returning to the previous subject and Sherlock wished he had said nothing. Now wasn't the time to talk about Molly, but at least he had put the idea of change into John's head. Sherlock would be able to remind his friend later that he had hinted at things when he finally revealed his relationship with Molly and the fact that he was a father with another child on the way.

Fortunately, the flight attendant appeared at that moment to offer refreshments and John seemed to forget about their conversation afterwards which was just fine with Sherlock.

After an annoyingly long layover in some foreign country or another, due to booking the flights at short notice which meant a non-stop flight was not available, Sherlock and John arrived in Marakech late the following morning. The men made their way to the location shown on the tracking device. Fortunately, Mary was out and Sherlock was able to introduce himself and John as friends of the foreign lady, saying she was expecting them. He spent the afternoon making himself at home as he waited, playing absurd games of Happy Families with the young man who lived with his father at the residence Mary had chosen as her bolt-hole. John, for his part, spent the day pacing the floor impatiently and looking out the window to the street every few minutes which Sherlock felt was very foolish. What if Mary saw him peering through the window? But he said nothing.

Sherlock couldn't help being impressed at Mary's ingenuity in finding somewhere so remote to stay. Without the tracker, brilliant detective though he was, he had to admit to himself that he would probably never have been able to find her. Of course, that didn't mean he wouldn't have a little fun with Mary first when she arrived and pretend he had deduced her movements correctly.

When Mary did turn up, everything went to plan, except for the fact that Sherlock had not counted on Ajay watching his every move and boarding the same planes to follow John and himself to Morocco. After Sherlock and John revealed themselves to Mary, and Sherlock had told Mary they needed to return to London so he could protect her properly, Ajay showed up and pulled a gun on Mary, then ended up being shot and killed himself by a local policeman. So much for getting answers from him. The only extra clue the man had given about someone who had betrayed the special operations team he and Mary had been a part of, was that it was an English woman who had told the terrorists of the impending attempt to break out the hostages in Tbilisi. It was that information which had led Ajay to believe that Mary was the betrayer.

Sherlock paced the room in Morocco and thought about the woeful amount of clues he had as to who was the person responsible for alerting the terrorists about the impending rescue attempt. Mary had said a code word had been used on the end of the phone, "Ammo," and Ajay had said his captors had taunted him with that word over and over as well. Sherlock considered this and suddenly had an idea. He remembered Mycroft using code words when discussing who was privy to the information about the Magnussen doctored footage. One of them was "love" which came from the Latin word amor, and "I love" was amo in Latin. It was a bit of a stretch, but the person had to be connected to Mycroft's office, someone who had personal knowledge of A.G.R.A. Perhaps...

Sherlock decided there was no time to lose. He called Mycroft immediately with his suspicions, then headed back to London with John and Mary.

 _I'm coming home to you, Molly,_ Sherlock thought as he sat in the plane making its way back to the woman he loved. He was rather glad that he was not sitting with John and Mary, but alone in the row behind them, which enabled him to indulge in his daydreams. Everything would be over soon and his new life would begin.

* * *

 **Author's note:** Confession time; initially this chapter was over 4600 words and it went from positive to devastating. I decided instead to split it and add a couple extra conversations to this chapter and leave the horrible heartbreaking one for the next chapter instead. It seemed to be a good point at which to leave off where I ended up splitting the chapter.

Incidentally, my inclination was to write Marakesh rather than Marakech. One of my lovely English readers informed me that she has always seen it spelled Marakech so I went with that. I researched to make sure I was accurate in describing where Mary ended up, and I discovered that the _Sherlock_ cast did indeed film this on location in Marakech, so there's a bit of trivia for you.

So here we get to see Sherlock hint to John about changes ahead (that conversation is one of my new additions to the chapter.) I thought it would be a nice way to foreshadow the eventual reveal to John.

So, Sherlock is happily anticipating his future with Molly. Hope you enjoyed their little scene together too where Sherlock is definitely showing he is anxious to move forward.

Your thoughts?


	34. Dreams Shattered Like Plaster Busts

**Author's note:** Warning - themes of tragic loss ahead. Please don't hate me! Blame the series writers for killing off Mary!

* * *

Feeling anticipation at the case almost being solved, as soon as Sherlock arrived back at Baker Street he decided to call Molly, despite the lateness of the hour. He just wanted to hear her voice. Plus he wished to reassure her that he was home safely and they were a step closer to beginning their future together properly.

"Sorry to call so late," he apologised as soon as Molly picked up the phone and answered sleepily, "I just wanted to let you know I'm back home, and tomorrow things should be wrapped up with the case."

He heard Molly yawn before she responded. "That's okay. I appreciate you calling, and I'm glad you're home safely. Did you bring Mary back with you?"

"Yes, but once again, things did not go exactly as I anticipated. This seems to be becoming a regular occurrence as of late," he said wryly. "I underestimated her former colleague who followed us to Marakech."

Molly gasped. "What happened?"

Sherlock filled her in on all the details, including his suspicions as to the identity of the person who had betrayed Mary's team in Tbilisi.

"Mycroft will be interrogating her tomorrow afternoon and I will be watching on the other side of a two-way mirror to ascertain by her body language and tone of voice whether she is innocent or guilty, in the event she denies the charges brought against her."

"If Lady Smallwood is guilty, it does seem rather odd that she would turn to you for help in regard to the Magnussen case a few months ago. You said her husband was being blackmailed. What if the truth is that she was the one being blackmailed instead?" Molly paused, then said slowly, "Of course that would have been a very risky thing for her to do if she was hiding something like that. Wouldn't she have been concerned you might discover the truth?"

Sherlock pursed his lips in thought, He had not thought of that. "I don't know, and I don't like not knowing, Molly. Perhaps her fear of exposure by Magnussen was greater than her fear of me discovering the truth?" he finally suggested. "I mean, what other English woman with access to what happened in Tbilisi could be to blame if not her?"

Molly's voice was reassuring. "I'm sure you must be right then. I'll be done with work at four tomorrow. Will you let me know what happens?"

"Of course I will," he responded. "I'll let you get some sleep now. Sweet dreams my Molly." _Tomorrow I'm going to make your dreams come true, baby,_ he promised silently.

"You too, Sherlock. I'll talk to you tomorrow. Good night."

Sherlock smiled as he set down his phone. The final countdown to his future with Molly had well and truly begun.

The following day, Sherlock went to his bedside drawer and withdrew the velvet box with the engagement ring. As soon as Lady Smallwood was established as being the person who had betrayed Mary's team, he planned to go to Molly's flat in the evening, declare his love for her and propose. He had no intention of wasting any more time. A smile curved his lips as he thought about what her reaction would be. He no longer had any doubt that Molly loved him, despite the fact that the words remained unspoken between them. They would not remain unspoken for much longer.

As Sherlock slipped the ring box into his coat pocket, he recalled that his favourite coat was still at Molly's place. He'd have to remember to collect it when he went over there. The coats might appear identical, but the one at Molly's was his favourite because it had been worn the most. He also had secret recording devices located within three different pockets which he would usually transfer to another coat if the need arose. One never knew when it might be necessary to surreptitiously record a conversation. This coat still felt a little stiff, although he had to admit, the collar did stand up nicely in the way he liked to keep it up.

Sherlock headed to the place where Lady Smallwood was being detained and stood in a room with a two-way mirror as Mycroft interrogated her. She proed her innocence strongly and by the insistent tone of her voice and rigid posture, Sherlock was inclined to believe her. It appeared Molly's cautious scepticism about the woman's guilt was correct. _I need to pay attention to Molly more often,_ he thought to himself, remembering how she had been clever enough to make that suggestion about the plaster bust, that someone was searching for something. Molly would undoubtedly be not only a fine wife, but an equally as good sounding board when it came to cases. He had a feeling if he discussed things pertaining to a case with Molly, she would provide valuable insight.

For now though he faced another dilemma. If Lady Smallwood was not the traitor, who was?

Feeling frustrated, he decided to take a walk so he could think about things. He found himself at the middle of Vauxhall Bridge as various conversations drifted through his mind. Something Mary had said to him suddenly popped into his mind palace - " _You'd be amazed what a receptionist picks up. They know everything,"_ and that was when Sherlock knew for certain what the truth was. God, he'd been so _blind_. The person who had betrayed Mary's team had not been Lady Smallwood at all, it had been her secretary, Vivian, who had the same access to the movements of A.G.R.A. as she did.

With this revelation in mind, Sherlock rushed to Mycroft's office building and asked the whereabouts of the secretary. He was informed that she had left work, with the intention of going to the London Aquarium. Apparently it was a favourite place for her to wind down after a long day.

Sherlock texted both John and Mary to come and meet him. It was time to reveal the truth about what had happened and send the secretary to prison, where she belonged. As he rode in the taxi, Sherlock fingered the ring box in his pocket. This didn't need to change his plans for the evening. The only thing that had changed was his knowledge of who was really behind the failed hostage extraction. He called Mycroft to give him the news of Lady Smallwood's innocence and that he should come and see the show at the aquarium. Then he called Lestrade as well, letting him know an arrest needed to be made at the London Aquarium.

He was about to text Molly when his phone sounded with a text message from her. They really were in sync.

 _I just got home from work when John called and asked me to babysit Rosie because Mrs. Hudson is still out of town in Corfu until tomorrow. It's just as well Victoria is still with your parents. By the way, she is having a wonderful time with them, and they are spoiling her rotten. Anyway, John said he and Mary were meeting you at the London Aquarium. John called to ask me to babysit Rosie so he and Mary can join you. What's going on? Did your brother confront Lady Smallwood? I still find it difficult to believe she was behind what happened._

A tender expression crossed Sherlock's face. As he had thought earlier, his future wife was astoundingly intuitive. Small wonder he was completely besotted with her.

 _You were right to have your doubts about Lady Smallwood's guilt, my clever girl. She is innocent._

Sherlock smiled and sent the text then sent a second one.

 _Now, the curtain rises on the final Act. There were some red herrings along the way but I am about to confront the woman who I now know without a doubt was responsible for what happened in Tbilisi. Once this case is complete and you have been released from babysitting duty I will head over to your flat. I do not anticipate that this confrontation should take very long. I have already contacted Lestrade that he will need to make an arrest._

 _That's wonderful, Sherlock. I'll look forward to seeing you,_ was Molly's response.

Sherlock took a deep breath and sent off another text, wanting to give Molly a hint as to what his intentions were for that night.

 _By the way, I have something to tell you and something even more important to ask. Can you guess what they are?_

He hesitated and then added " _XX_ " before hitting the send button. Would Molly be able to deduce what he was planning? His heart felt light, free. After tonight the curtain would rise on the first Act of a completely new story and Molly would publicly emerge as the love of his life and his fiancée. He hoped she wouldn't want a long engagement. They had a baby on the way, after all. He wanted their baby to be a Holmes by name as well as by birth.

Molly's response came through a couple minutes later.

 _I may entertain some thoughts on what you have to say, but I'll wait and see what happens when you come over. XX_

A smile curved Sherlock's lips as he noted the way she too had ended her text with the same XX. He felt like he was on a high, one that far exceeded that of an artificial one. He was high on life, ready to make the changes he had hinted about to John. Hopefully John wouldn't be too cross with him. If he was though, Sherlock was sure that Mary would bring him around. She was good at that.

Sherlock arrived at the London Aquarium only a few minutes before closing. As expected, he found the woman and confronted her, and she admitted everything. It might have taken him awhile to unearth the truth, but at last it was done.

Mary arrived ahead of John and in time to hear all the details of what Lady Smallwood's secretary had done. The woman even had the nerve to suggest he just let her go, as if that would ever happen! What Sherlock had not anticipated was the fact that Vivian Norbury had a gun, which she pulled out of her handbag when Mary rushed towards her in anger, thus halting Mary in her tracks.

Even so, Sherlock couldn't help taunting the woman, who seemed to think herself superior to her own employers. He shot off rapid fire deductions even as Mary cautioned him, paying no attention to his friend. He was Sherlock Holmes, and he was going to prove he was smarter than a mere secretary, that he had outsmarted her.

Mycroft appeared at the end of his monologue, along with Lestrade and several men ready to arrest the elderly woman.

"You outsmarted them all, all except Sherlock Holmes," said Sherlock in grim satisfaction and he reached out his hand for the gun. "There's no way out."

Vivian looked at him assessingly. "So it would seem. You see right through me, Mr. Holmes."

"It's what I do," he told her coldly, remembering the way he had uttered the same thing to John when his friend had expressed admiration for him thinking to put that tracer on the A.G.R.A. memory stick.

She tilted her head and smiled back at Sherlock, just as coldly. "Maybe ai can still surprise you." The smile disappeared as she suddenly she lifted the pistol and cocked it, aiming straight at him.

Sherlock raised his hands in a gesture of surrender as Lestrade said, "Come on, be sensible!"

"No, I don't think so," was the response.

And then Sherlock's life flashed in front of his eyes as Vivian Norbury did something he should have anticipated from a desperate, unbalanced woman, but hadn't; she pulled the trigger and said "Surprise!"

Everything Sherlock thought he knew, everything he had hoped for himself and Molly shattered into millions of pieces, just like those damned plaster busts. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion, and even as he waited for the bullet that would pierce his body and end his life, Sherlock was given a reprieve by Mary, who had seemed to anticipate what was about to happen and jumped in front of him, receiving the bullet in her chest instead.

Sherlock looked on in horror as Mary's momentum carried her past him and he rushed to her. Norbury was apprehended by Lestrade's men and Sherlock looked over at Mycroft."Get an ambulance," he said desperately, even as he instinctively knew that Mary's wound was nothing like the one he had sustained from her, the one that was carefully designed to miss any major organs. No, this would prove to be a fatal gunshot wound within minutes.

John arrived and shouted, "Mary!"

Sherlock stood back and allowed his friend to tend to his wife. He listened as Mary spoke to John, obviously sensing her life was ending. His eyes filled with tears when Mary spoke to him, apologising for the time she had shot him and saying she thought they were even now.

And then Sherlock watched Mary say her final goodbye to John even as the life force ebbed from her. After her body went limp in John's arms, he heard the low growl that emanated from his best friend, like a wild animal in pain. John then looked up at him accusingly.

"You made a vow," he hissed. "You _swore_ it!" Sherlock saw undisguised hatred in his expression that had never been there before, not even when he had appeared to John the first time after returning to London. At that moment he knew he had not lost just one friend, but two.

As John stayed with Mary, waiting for the ambulance to transport his wife's lifeless body to the hospital and the morgue, rather than life-saving surgery, as had happened in Sherlock's case, Mycroft took Sherlock by the arm and propelled him to his limo, then settled him inside it.

He instructed his driver to take Sherlock back home, saying just one thing before leaving to go back to John. Surprisingly, his words were gentle. "Don't blame yourself. This was a tragic accident."

Sherlock didn't look at his brother or respond. It was his fault, he knew it and John knew it too.

He rode in silence, feeling as if he were in the middle of a nightmare. He was broken, totally undone. All thoughts of his future with Molly vanished. How could he pursue his own happiness when his best friend had just lost his wife? Mary had sacrificed herself for him. He should have been the one to die. It was _his_ sneering, superior deductions that had tipped the elderly woman over the edge into committing murder. Overwhelming guilt washed over Sherlock.

He got out of the limo without a word when it arrived at Baker Street and went inside. He took off his coat, extracted the ring box and looked at it. "I'm sorry, Molly," he said to the inanimate box. "You deserve better than me." Tears blurred his vision and he considered throwing the ring into the rubbish bin, but that would have been a waste. No, he would sell it and whatever he got for it, he would give to Molly for Victoria and his unborn child. He would do the right thing, support them financially, but he could no longer be a father, nor a lover or future husband.

He went into his bedroom and deposited the ring temporarily back into the top drawer among his socks, then looked at the photos mocking him on top of the bedside table. There was no point in having a future with Molly and his children. He deserved to be alone. Molly would be hurt, but she would eventually find someone else. After all, if Anderson had been interested in her, he was sure many other men would be only too happy to mend her broken heart. He turned the photos glass-side down so he could no longer see the smiling faces.

Then he returned to the sitting room, folded himself into his chair and closed his eyes, letting the horror of what had occurred wash over him as tears of anguish streamed down his face. He was a bloody fool to have thought he could have it all - the detective life, the love, the family. Many years earlier, Moriarty had said he would burn the heart out of him. This might not have been the case Moriarty had intended to break Sherlock with, but he had succeeded anyway in breaking if not burning Sherlock's heart.

A long time later, Sherlock pulled out his phone from his pocket when it rang and looked at it it with hollow, reddened eyes. It was Molly. He was not surprised.

Before he could do more than hit the answer button, she started with, "Oh, my God, Sherlock, what happened at the Aquarium? When John got back, he told me Mary was dead - because of you. He wouldn't explain further, just told me to go home. Please, tell me what's going on!" Her voice was verging on hysteria. Mary had been her friend too, of course.

He blinked back a fresh wave of tears at hearing the voice of the woman he adored, knowing this was the end for them. "John's right," he said in a voice that was low and hoarse. "It's my fault she's dead. I got too cocky and caused an unhinged woman to fire a bullet at me, which Mary took instead to save my life. I should be the one who died, not her."

Molly gasped. "Oh, dear God. Sherlock, I'm so sorry for what you went through, but you can't blame yourself if Mary took a bullet for you. It was her choice."

He listened to her words without comprehending them. "No, Molly. I took things too far. I'm the reason she's dead. I'm toxic, Molly. I should never have allowed myself to believe we could have a future together. I vowed to protect Mary and she's dead. I'm not going to let that happen to you."

"Please don't do this, Sherlock," Molly begged. "Victoria needs you, I need you. Our baby needs you!" Her voice was rising, but Sherlock remained unmoved. This was for the best.

"I'm sorry, Molly, It's over. I'll set up a bank account for Victoria and the baby but I suggest you not tell anyone else I'm the father, for your own safety. I do not wish to be the cause of your deaths as well."

He could hear Molly choking back a sob. "Please, Sherlock, we can get through this! Remember your long-term plans for us. When you texted me earlier, you said you had something to tell me and a question to ask, remember?"

"That was before I became responsible for Mary's death. Now I have to pay the price for what I did," he told her disconsolately.

"And that price is to forgo your own happiness, our happiness?" Molly asked, and this time he could hear the hurt in her tone.

"Yes," he said shortly. Then he added, "I'm sorry for hurting you, but this is the way it has to be. Goodbye Molly." He pressed the disconnect button and dropped his phone, then buried his face in his hands.

A despondency even worse than that which he had felt when he had been headed off on that one-way mission filled him. He'd felt guilty about killing Magnussen, but this was immeasurably worse, because he had effectively killed a dear friend and lost another in the process. And now he had had to let the woman he loved go.

He heard the phone ring again, and then saw the texts that came from Molly but he didn't respond. There was no point.

* * *

 **Author's note:** I know, this chapter is so tragic after starting so positively, but you know it had to happen in order for me to be faithful to the canon, as I indicated in the first A/N. Don't you want to just shake some sense into Sherlock? I truly feel he had overwhelming guilt over Mary's death which is what led to him going to extreme measure and taking drugs again in order to carry out Mary's last wishes.

In these two chapters, as with the one previously, I spent a lot of time watching the events of the episode to which they pertained, trying to create a timeline for it that made sense, trying to figure out Sherlock's thought processes in coming to the wrong conclusion, then the right one. I had to address the issue of Mrs. Hudson not being available to look after Rosie on that fateful night as well. Phew, it required a lot of thought to figure out how to take Victoria out of the mix with Mrs. Hudson out of the picture.

I would love to hear from my readers as usual with their own interpretation on the canon events of this episode that I wrote about in these chapters. Feel free to share your grief and anguish with others in your review as well!


	35. A Broken Heart or Two

No response to her second phone call. Molly tried texting instead.

 _Don't do this to yourself, to us. You are not responsible for someone else's actions. You neither fired the fatal shot, nor forced Mary to take the bullet for you._

Still no response and Molly tried once more.

 _I know you feel you are to blame for what happened, but do you think Mary would want you to blame yourself? Use that brain of yours and think about it, Sherlock. It's not too late to change your mind._

When Sherlock still did not respond, even though she saw he read the messages, Molly knew it was well and truly over between them this time. She knew Sherlock was hurting. He was, after all, devoted to his friends, and he had stressed to her that he had made a vow to Mary to protect her.

As she sat on her sofa in abject misery, her phone still on her lap, silent as the tomb, Molly's mind went over the events of the last couple of weeks.

Two weeks earlier, when Sherlock had stayed with her, her heart had been so full of love for him and she had felt sure that he too loved her. He had made a huge step forward by discussing the possibility of them moving in together. That had been no small thing for Sherlock, and she knew it. He was ready to share his life with her. No, she wasn't certain it would ever be a life that included a wedding band, but it was a life, nonetheless, and they could be a family.

The way he kept in contact with her, even when he was unable to see her, kept her confident that things for them would soon be moving in an upwards direction.

Of the time they had spent apart though, the hardest had been when she had sent Victoria off to stay with her grandparents this past week due to Mrs. Hudson's holiday. It was the first time Molly had been separated from her daughter and she felt that loss acutely. Fortunately, Victoria seemed to have no such reservations. The Holmes grandparents had known exactly how to pique her interest with promises of shopping expeditions and special treats.

Each night they spoke on the phone and Victoria would tell her about her day, and it was rather bittersweet. Molly was glad Victoria was enjoying herself, but wished her daughter might miss her a little more. The flat felt empty and quiet.

It had been a welcome reprieve when Sherlock had come to the lab before heading to Morocco. She had been reassured about the way he felt when he kissed her and talked to her.

Then earlier this evening, the cryptic words he had said to her filled her with hope.

" _I have something to tell you and something even more important to ask. Can you guess what they are?"_

For the first time he had even ended his message with the universal sign of affection, two X's.

Of course she couldn't help pondering the question. Was he going to offer a declaration of love or was he going to announce that it was time for them to move in together? Was he going to officially ask her to move in with him and reveal their relationship status? Of course, her heart longed for him to propose, but she was not foolish enough to seriously entertain that thought. And yet… when he had returned to London and found out she had had a baby, he had told her that if he had known he would have offered to marry her. So she supposed the idea of marriage was not out of the realm of possibility, merely improbable.

She had pondered these things and been in a state of nervous excitement even as she took care of Rosie, rather thankful that Victoria was not with her. It was rather fun to look after an infant again, and Molly couldn't help thinking with anticipation that in a few months, she too would be taking care of her own new baby, and one that would perhaps be a playmate for Rosie.

But everything had changed when John got home and she saw the look on his face. She had never seen him look so haggard. His voice was rough with tears as he told her Mary was dead.

Molly had been horrified at the news, but even more so when he burst out with the claim that it was all Sherlock's fault.

She had hurried home, wondering what could have happened. How could things have gone so wrong when just hours earlier Sherlock had been so buoyant, so confident about things?

Nothing could have prepared her for the way Sherlock sounded on the phone. Gone was the man she had so confidently believed was ready to commit to her, and in its place was a man who had encased his heart with an impenetrable wall of stone or ice. She felt so helpless, but she knew this was Sherlock's decision.

 _What can I do, God_? she prayed silently.

This time, she heard the answer in her head. _Be there for him when he needs you._

 _Okay, God, I can do that,_ she responded in her heart. She would not turn her back on Sherlock, but remain his friend if he changed his mind about things. She would not abandon him.

Her phone came to life in her lap as it began to ring and Molly's heart leapt. Had Sherlock come to his senses already?

But no, she saw the caller was Violet Holmes and suddenly realised she had omitted her nightly call to Victoria due to all that had transpired that evening. She pressed the button to answer and said immediately, "I'm so sorry I forgot to call!"

She could hear the concern in Violet's voice. "That's not like you, dear. Is everything okay?"

Molly bit her lip. How much could she tell Sherlock's mother?

Carefully, she responded. "It has been a rather difficult evening. Something tragic has happened. John's wife Mary...she, well-" Molly swallowed the lump in her throat, "she died tonight."

"Oh, merciful Heaven," exclaimed Violet in a horrified tone. "What happened? Was there an accident?"

Molly swallowed again. "She was accidentally shot and didn't survive. I...I can't really say more, I wasn't there. I only know what happened from John and Sherlock."

"Sherlock?" questioned his mother. "Was it something to do with a case?"

"Yes," Molly affirmed heavily, "and Sherlock blames himself, but it isn't his fault. Mary, well, she took the bullet that was intended for him."

Mrs. Holmes gasped. "Good gracious, someone wanted to kill Sherlock? Was it that dreadful chap from that video, Moriarty? Is he still alive then, after all?"

"No, no," Molly assured her, "This was a different case entirely. I really can't say any more." Molly suddenly realised she needed to ask something. "I do have a favour to ask though. Do you...do you think you could keep Victoria a few extra days? There will be funeral arrangements and I want to be able to offer John help with Rosie. It would be easier if I don't have Victoria with me, much as I miss her."

"Of course, dear. I'm sure you need to be there for Sherlock, to help him through it too. He seemed quite fond of Mary."

Molly blinked back tears that had suddenly gathered in her eyes. "Sherlock is not in any condition right now to want my help. John blames Sherlock, and Sherlock also blames himself for what happened. He...he said it's over between us." She choked back a sob on the last words.

"Oh, my dear,"came Violet's sympathetic voice, "whatever has happened, don't give up on my son. He is obviously hurting right now but he'll come around eventually, I'm sure of it."

"I'll be there if he needs me," said Molly sincerely. She heard Victoria's voice in the background, demanding the phone.

"Hang in there, dear, here's your daughter."

Molly was glad to talk with Victoria and she felt the loss of her presence, wishing she could just hold her. Victoria had always been with her when she had been going through those dark times of Sherlock's absence and estrangement, she had helped Molly to keep going. She dreaded the thought of letting Victoria know her daddy no longer wanted to be part of her life. She could only pray that, at the very least, Sherlock would change his mind about that once he had thought things through properly.

After Victoria had finished chattering about her day, Molly asked her to put Grandma back on the line.

Arrangements were made for Victoria to remain in Sussex for an extra week. Molly knew it was for the best, even though she would miss Victoria desperately. The extra few days would mean she could offer to help with Rosie until a permanent replacement could be found.

Molly spent an almost sleepless night. She would have liked nothing more than to curl into a ball and wallow in her own misery. She'd lost both a friend and the man she loved, but she had to be strong. She thought of poor, motherless little Rosie and it helped put her own feelings into perspective somewhat.

In the morning, Molly called John and offered to take care of Rosie so he could make whatever arrangements he needed in regard to Mary. John accepted the offer gratefully.

Looking after Rosie helped to ease Molly's heartache somewhat. She tried to concentrate on the baby's needs and not dwell on anything past the immediate future. Once Mary's funeral was over and life got back to "normal" if that were now ever possible, she would have time to reflect on how to proceed with her own life. Molly knew she had to make it clear to Sherlock at some point that, despite his attempt to push her away, she would not abandon him, she would be there for him if he needed her. She could not help being afraid he might do something drastic, like attempt suicide or go back to using drugs to escape his feelings of guilt, as he had done after shooting Magnussen.

John remained mostly uncommunicative, blanketed in his own misery, and Molly was relieved to discover that Mycroft had helped with the funeral arrangements, arranging for the use of the same church in which Rosie had been christened.

Molly helped with letting people know about the funeral details, including Mrs. Hudson. John had made a list of people who needed to be contacted. Sherlock's name was conspicuously absent from the list. She considered texting him with the details anyway, but decided Mrs. Hudson would let him know.

A few days later, Molly took the day off work and headed to John and Mary's, well, John's now, flat, to help get Rosie ready, and they headed to the church for the funeral service. There was to be no graveside interment. John knew Mary's wishes were that she be cremated in the event of her death. Molly couldn't help wondering if Mary had silently feared an early death due to her past.

Molly sat at the front of the church with John and Rosie. She watched as various people entered quietly. John kept his gaze fixed straight ahead, even as he held his daughter who fortunately was sleeping.

A few minutes before the service was due to start, Molly, who had been turning her head every couple of minutes, saw Mrs. Hudson come in, followed by Sherlock, and her heart jumped. She immediately noticed that he looked desolate and tired, as if he had not been sleeping. She was glad he had come, but she hoped John did not turn around and see him. Molly had tried on a couple occasions over the previous days to talk about Sherlock, but John had immediately shut her down. He was still furious with Sherlock and it hurt Molly to see the way he held Sherlock responsible for what had happened.

Mrs. Hudson walked to the front and sat beside Molly even as Sherlock slid into a rear pew. Molly was reminded of the way he had sat near the back at his own "funeral" service several years earlier.

At the end of the service, after the coffin was wheeled out of the church, Molly held Rosie and walked beside John as people offered words of consolation and sympathy. Molly wasn't surprised when she looked towards the back of the church and saw that Sherlock was gone. It was rather ironic that people considered Sherlock insensitive when she knew his true heart, and how much he really cared for his friends. He had come to the funeral out of respect for Mary, yet had left early out of respect for John.

Molly remained with John as the crowd of mourners eventually dispersed, returning to their own lives. At the end only Mrs. Hudson lingered.

"John, I'm so sorry for your loss," she said gently, "but you should really talk to Sherlock. He is not taking things well either, and you should be there for one another."

John's look and tone of voice made Molly wince as he responded. "I have no desire to talk to Sherlock. If it wasn't for him, my wife would still be alive and Rosie would have a mother."

Mrs. Hudson sighed. "All right then, dear. I will leave you to get on with things, but I hope you change your mind."

"I will not change my mind," said John stiffly, and Mrs. Hudson departed with a sad expression on her face.

Molly realised that Sherlock must be feeling even worse about things. He not only blamed himself, John was doing the same. What an immense burden he must be feeling. She determined once again that she would not abandon him, that she would not be angry if and when she saw him.

Knowing that John was heading next to the crematorium, she asked hesitantly, "Would you like me to take Rosie back to your flat? I'm sure it will make things easier if she is not with you."

John gave her a grateful look. "Yes, I would appreciate that." She watched him as he extracted a note from his pocket and offered it to her. "I saw Sherlock at the back of the church. If he had come up to me I was going to give him this note, but he didn't. If he happens to come to my flat, please pass this on to him and tell him I don't want to see him. I don't want to talk with him. I would rather see anyone but him. He can go to hell for all I care."

Molly drew in her breath, even as she took the note and put it into her pocket. She wasn't surprised at John's harsh words, he had made his feelings quite clear about Sherlock, but it still made her heart ache for the two men who had been such close friends for so long. All she would be able to do was pray that they would someday be reconciled. Even if she could never be with Sherlock again, she desperately wanted to see the men friends once more. She knew their estrangement would have grieved Mary.

Sherlock didn't come that day, but he did come the next day, when Molly was once again babysitting Rosie so that John could try and get some much needed sleep. She had taken the day off work again, but this would be her last day. John had made arrangements with Stella and Ted to care for his daughter for the foreseeable future when he was at work. Apparently Stella was Mike Stamford's younger sister. She vaguely recalled Sherlock reading a telegram from them at John's wedding.

Molly had just finished feeding Rosie when she heard the tentative knock at the door and knew instinctively it was Sherlock. She grabbed John's note, which she had left at the flat the previous evening and put it into her pocket, then quickly put a blanket around Rosie and a beanie on her head. She didn't want to leave Rosie alone, in case she fussed and woke John.

She walked outside and looked at Sherlock who was standing a few feet from the door, silently waiting. It was the first time they had been face-to-face in a week, since he had come to her at work before leaving for Morocco, but it felt like an eternity. There was a huge gulf between them and she felt awkward, remembering the last time they had spoken was when he had broken things off with her. She was determined not to show it however. Sherlock needed to see she was not angry with him.

"Hi," she said softly, then licked her lips nervously.

"I just wondered how things were going," he began hesitantly, "and if there's anything I could do..."

She wondered if there was a hidden meaning behind his words, if he was asking how things were going with her and the pregnancy, but she decided he was probably just concerned with how John was coping, perhaps trying to see if John's attitude towards him had softened.

It hurt unbearably to know she would have to dash his hopes on that. She pulled the note out of her pocket and offered it to him. "It's...it's from John."

"Right," he responded, sounding resigned, as if he already knew what the note would contain.

"You don't need to read it now," she told him gently.

It was the hardest thing in the world for her to tell him that John didn't want to see him. The look in Sherlock's eyes when she told him tore her up inside. It was haunted. She would have told him he still had her, would always have her, even if it could only be friendship between them again, but the words stuck in her throat. Her own pain was still too raw, and she knew Sherlock would have enough to deal with, without forcing him to think about their own relationship. That could wait.

Sherlock looked at her silently after she finished the words. Feeling her eyes fill with tears, she turned away and walked slowly back into John's flat.

Molly clasped Rosie tightly in her arms and moved to peer through the blinds at the window. She watched as the man she loved with her whole heart walked away with head bowed, looking defeated, and suddenly she feared for him and what he might do to himself. As he disappeared from view she prayed silently, because there was nothing else she could do, _Save him, God, save him._

* * *

 **Author's note:** Yeah, the last line is deliberately intended to make you recall Mary's words on the DVD to save John. Mary wants Sherlock to save John, Molly wants God to save Sherlock. Interesting, isn't it?

This chapter kind of follows events as I think my "real" Sherlock would have experienced in my own personal head canon in regard to Mary's funeral and going to see John. Didn't your heart break in that scene near the end of the episode where Molly had to give him the bad news about John not wanting to have anything to do with him? I know my heart aches every time. Benedict Cumberbatch really shines in that scene, the grief is clearly etched on his face. Louise Brealey is also amazing in the way she delivers her lines too, you can see she is equally as devastated at having to say those words to Sherlock. Such a small, poignant scene!

Anyway, I wanted to show in this chapter that Molly refuses to just give up on Sherlock even though he has pushed her away. I don't believe she would ever abandon him. So, no matter how her heart is breaking as well, she is willing to just be there for Sherlock if and when he needs her.

I hope you liked this chapter, despite its sadness and I look forward to hearing from you, dear readers! Don't be shy, step right up and share your opinion. It's okay if you have a different head canon, I'd like to hear it anyway!


	36. Survivor's Guilt

**Author's note:** Once again, I am backtracking, to pick up the story from Sherlock's POV from where it left off with him.

* * *

Sherlock spent most of the night after Mary's death tossing and turning. When he managed to sleep, distorted images filled his dreams, dreams of Mary being shot, dreams of Mary's image dissolving into that of Molly and her being shot instead, and each time he felt the acute pain of loss.

The sound of his phone ringing alerted him to wakefulness, thankfully interrupting the latest dream where Victoria was lying in a pool of blood at his feet.

Without even looking to see who was calling, just glad to not be subjected anymore to the torture of more loved ones dying in front of his eyes, he snatched his phone up from the bedside table and pressed the accept button.

"Hello?" he said hoarsely in a voice roughened by sleep. He didn't know who he had expected to be calling, but it certainly had not crossed his mind that it would be his mother.

"Sherlock, dear, you sound dreadful!"

Sherlock rubbed a weary hand across his eyes. "You just woke me, Mummy," he informed her flatly.

"I did? It's past ten o'clock!" she responded, a little tartly.

Sherlock's lips tightened at his mother's tone. "I didn't sleep well."

Her voice softened and she said, "I'm so sorry, Sherlock. Molly spoke to me last night and told me what happened."

Sherlock felt a flash of anger arise within himself. "Why did she do that? It was not her place to call you." He sat up properly in bed, extricating himself from the tangled sheet and sliding his feet to the floor.

"Actually, I was the one who called," explained his mother. "I don't know if you are aware of the fact that Victoria is staying with us right now, and Molly has called each night to speak with her daughter. Last night she didn't, so I called her and she told me what happened."

Sherlock swallowed. "Oh, yes, she had mentioned that to me." He had completely forgotten that Victoria was with his parents and suddenly, now that there was no case to occupy his time, he realised he missed her.

Violet Holmes's voice broke into his reverie. "Molly also told me you broke things off with her, as much as you can end a relationship that is secret to begin with." Now her voice was accusatory.

"It was for her own good," said Sherlock defensively, curling his bare toes against the floor boards. "I'm not good enough for her. It was my rash actions that caused Mary's death. Undoubtedly, one day, I would do the same with Molly."

Mrs. Holmes snorted. "That is utterly ridiculous, Sherlock. From what Molly said, you were not to blame. Mary chose to sacrifice herself for you."

Sherlock gritted his teeth. "Yes, and left a baby behind in the process."

"And what about _your_ child, Sherlock?" demanded his mother, and Sherlock wondered if Molly had said she was pregnant again, then he realised this was not so as his mother continued. "Victoria talks about you all the time. Will you abandon her as well, like her mother?"

Sherlock thrust his free hand through his hair, feeling guilt over the new thought that abandoning Victoria was probably not far removed from Rosie growing up without a mother. "I…I don't know, Mummy. Right now, all I can think about is John and how I can make it up to him and Rosie for breaking my vow to protect his family. I failed to do that."

His mother sighed. "Sherlock, if you will not let Molly help you deal with things, I'm going to give you the number of a therapist I know of in London. Give her my name and I'm sure she will be able to fit you in immediately for an appointment. But please, try and sort things out with Molly. She is hurting as well, and I know you still love her or you wouldn't be pushing her away."

Sherlock pursed his lips. He didn't like his mother interfering in his personal business, but he supposed her idea of a therapist was better than nothing. Ignoring her words about Molly, he said, "Give me the number."

After she had given him the name and number of the woman which he committed to his short-term memory, Violet Holmes asked, "Would you like to say hello to Victoria, while I have you on the phone?"

Sherlock wondered if his mother was trying to manipulate the situation so that he would be reminded that he had a daughter, but even if that were the case, the recent dream came back to him of Victoria dying at his feet and he knew speaking to her would help to erase that horrible image from his mind.

"Yes, Mummy. I will speak to her."

He heard noises in the background, murmurs of conversation, and then Victoria was on the line. "Daddy!" she exclaimed. "I miss you."

Sherlock swallowed a sudden lump in his throat, and he began to wonder why he had pushed Molly away when that would mean hurting his own daughter as well, not to mention their unborn child. What the hell was he doing to himself?

"I miss you too, sweet pea. What have you been up to with Grandma and Grandpa?" he finally asked.

Victoria went on to tell him about going shopping and getting "pwesents," and Sherlock knew his daughter was being thoroughly spoiled, not that he objected to that. She had had very little of that in the first couple years of her life, after all. He also realised that if Victoria had been out shopping with his parents, at some point questions were going to be asked about her identity. He could not keep her a secret forever, especially now that his parents were so heavily involved in their granddaughter's life.

 _Once the funeral is over and I find a way to restore my friendship with John, receive his forgiveness, I guess I will have to reevaluate things,_ he thought to himself. He would have to use his mind palace to weigh his own feelings of guilt against the pain he was causing to others, to see if there was a possible solution that could be made which would have a better outcome. For now though, he needed to concentrate on the immediate future.

He spoke for a couple minutes longer with Victoria and then asked her to put her grandmother back on the phone.

"Mummy, I will make an appointment with the therapist you suggested. When are you bringing Victoria back to London?" he asked.

"Molly requested that she stay with us for another week what with all the arrangements that will need to be made for the funeral," explained Mrs. Holmes.

"That makes sense," Sherlock responded, thinking Molly was behaving in a responsible manner as usual. He bade his mother goodbye and put down his phone, then went to get dressed for the day.

He called the therapist and was able to make an appointment for later that afternoon.

Sherlock was just contemplating whether he felt like making himself something to eat for a late breakfast/early lunch, not really feeling hungry, when he heard the familiar voice of Mrs. Hudson calling from outside his door, "Hoo hoo, I'm home!"

Of course, the elderly woman had no idea about what had occurred the previous evening, and Sherlock knew it would be up to him to explain what had happened.

He invited Mrs. Hudson into the flat, which was rather unnecessary because she had already started turning the door handle and was planning on coming in anyway, as usual.

Explaining what had transpired was very difficult. Sherlock felt again the guilt wash over him as he related how Mary had taken a bullet for him and died as a result.

Mrs. Hudson was understandably horrified, although she also tried to tell Sherlock he should not blame himself. "Sherlock, dear. You cannot hold yourself responsible for the actions of another person. The whole situation is so tragic and I feel terrible for that poor, motherless babe, but blaming yourself accomplishes nothing except to feed into your own misery."

She was sitting across from Sherlock, in John's chair and he leaned forward in his own. "I made a vow to protect the Watson family at the wedding reception. You heard it yourself. I _failed_." He stressed the last word.

"Sherlock, you cannot predict the future and nobody could have foreseen what would happen. You just need some time to accept it and to move on. I'm sure that with Molly's help you can get through this."

Sherlock chewed on his lower lip. Mrs. Hudson and his mother were definitely on the same page. "I broke things off with Molly last night. She's better off with somebody who doesn't have a high profile profession like mine, and who obviously can't even protect the people he loves."

Mrs. Hudson gave an inpatient huff. "That is absolute nonsense. Are you even listening to yourself? When will you learn that you cannot make other people's decisions for them? Just as Mary chose to sacrifice herself for you, you cannot choose what Molly should do. If she is willing to take the risk of being with you, that is her choice. For an intelligent man, sometimes I feel like you don't understand the simplest things." She spoke in a rather fierce tone which surprised Sherlock. The fog of guilt and misery that had settled over his brain since the previous day lifted slightly.

"Perhaps you are right," he conceded, "but for now, I need to take things one day at a time. I have an appointment with a therapist later today, so perhaps that will give me some clarity."

Mrs. Hudson sniffed. "I certainly hope so. You need to think of how your own choices affect others. You don't only have Molly to consider, you know. You already have a daughter with her and now another baby on the way. They deserve your consideration as well."

He let out a frustrated sigh. "Yes, yes, I understand what you are saying. If I promise to consider things further, will you just let me be for now?"

Mrs. Hudson nodded. "That's all I'm asking." Then she changed the subject. "Have you eaten anything since all this happened? You look as if you have not slept much either. Can I make you a sandwich?"

For the first time since the previous night, Sherlock felt a slight flicker of amusement invade his tormented psyche. It was typical of Mrs. Hudson to act like his mother and want to take care of him. "Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. If you wish to bring me a sandwich, I will not object."

Mrs. Hudson ended up bringing him three sandwiches. He forced himself to eat two of them, all the while contemplating his future.

He went to his appointment which was a singularly unsuccessful one and determined it had been a waste of time. All the woman wanted to do was have him talk about his feelings, rather than make suggestions on how to fix things with John. He would give it just one more try, and that only because his mother had recommended the woman.

It was the following day when Mrs. Hudson informed him of the funeral arrangements. Sherlock was not surprised that he had not personally been told the details. He would go to the funeral of course, that went without saying. Mary had been his friend. He decided it would be best though to remain near the back. He did not want to cause a scene with John.

On the day of the funeral, Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson travelled together to the church. He noted it was the same one he had been in a few weeks earlier for Rosie's christening. He had certainly not expected to be returning to a church anytime soon.

The service was due to begin only a few minutes after they arrived. Mrs. Hudson walked forward to the front and Sherlock slipped into a seat near the rear. He observed that Molly was sitting with John and Rosie as well, and the sight made his heart ache. He wondered if she would ever forgive him for pushing her away. He certainly couldn't blame her if she didn't. He knew at some point they would need to talk again, but obviously now was not the time.

Sherlock slipped out just before the end of the service and went to a second therapy session. Finding it no more successful in helping him determine what to do, he decided he'd wasted enough time on it and returned to Baker Street, determined to sort things through alone.

When Mrs. Hudson saw him arrive home, she came up to the flat to talk about things, how they would need to rally around and look after little Rosie. To get her off the topic Sherlock told her he needed to see if there were any new cases for him.

When she expressed her concern about him being up to it, Sherlock responded with, "Work is the best antidote to sorrow, Mrs. Hudson."

He stared at his laptop screen for a few moments, as his mind went back to the events of the night at the aquarium, then he asked his landlady to say one word, if he should ever show himself to be acting cocky and over-confident again.

"Norbury?" she questioned uncomprehendingly.

"Yes, just that," he responded. Perhaps she might prevent him from making such a foolish mistake again.

Suddenly he noticed the DVD on his desk. Apparently it had been mixed up with Mrs. Hudson's things. There was a title on the DVD that said " _Miss me?"_ Sherlock felt his heartbeat quicken. Here at last was evidence that Moriarty had a plan for him after all.

With anxious fingers, he inserted the DVD into his laptop, but the contents were not at all what he expected. Instead of a video message from Moriarty, it was one from Mary.

It appeared Mary had always been concerned that something might happen to her, and he stared at the screen while she told him she was giving him a case - to save John Watson.

Mrs. Hudson quietly left the room, obviously respecting his privacy, as he continued to watch the DVD. Once he had finished watching, he knew he had to make one more attempt at reconciliation with John. If that was not successful, he would have to go to more extreme measures.

Sherlock resolved that he would go and visit John the following day, to see if there was anything he could do for him.

When Sherlock arrived at John's door the next day, he knocked tentatively, then stood back, feeling uncertain about his reception.

It was somewhat of a surprise when it wasn't John who opened the door, but Molly. He caught his breath at the sight of her holding little Rosie. Had it really been only a week since he had kissed her goodbye, even less time than that since he had been making those plans for the future, getting ready to propose to her? It seemed like a lifetime. Did she hate him now?

Sherlock saw no anger in Molly's eyes though, Nor was there anger in her tone when she spoke to him. She looked so beautiful, yet so sad, with the baby in her arms, and Sherlock longed to do nothing more than hold her, tell her he loved her, but he could not offer her false hope yet again. He'd hurt her too many times. His intellect warred with his heart even as Molly gave him a note from John and told him that John did not wish to have anything to do with him.

When Molly returned inside, Sherlock knew the last door had closed on his friendship with John as it was. Drastic measures would be needed if he were to comply with Mary's wishes to save his friend.

Decision made, Sherlock went home and pulled out his stash of drugs from their hiding place in the fireplace of 221C Baker Street. He owed it to Mary to accede to her last wishes. He was going to save John Watson even if he killed himself in the process. It was the least he could do.

And so it began, the downward spiral into a drug-induced haze that Sherlock had not experienced since his uni days. Even as he began, he was soon aware that he was overindulging in the cocktail of drugs he had chosen to use. He sought escape from his guilt and searched desperately for a case that might be worthy of the attention of John Watson. He sequestered himself in his flat, only allowing Billy Wiggins entrance in order to help control his intake. This was not wholly successful as he discovered after a week when he received an unsolicited client who provided him with the case he was looking for.

As soon as Faith Smith explained the details of her father's strange practices, Sherlock knew he was on to something big and he began to pursue the man who was generally known as a philanthropist who had founded several charities. But Sherlock knew for certain the man was a serial killer. He just needed to find a way to expose him. Unfortunately, he also needed to pull back on the drugs a little so he could focus. Even Billy said he had gone too far.

Sherlock began to map out his plan of action, and a week after meeting Faith Smith he made plans for a confrontation to take place two weeks later. By that time, he was sure he would have enough evidence to prove Culverton Smith's guilt.

With that in mind, Sherlock sent a text to Molly, the first time he had communicated with her since that day at John's flat. He had not even tried to see his daughter, knowing that it would frighten her to see him once again in this state. He certainly didn't need that on his conscience.

He provided Molly with an address of a female therapist, a woman who was not too far from John's work, that he was certain his friend, or former friend, would seek help from. In a moment of clarity, Sherlock remembered he had never retrieved his favourite coat from Molly's either. So he asked her to bring it, as well as an ambulance. Yes, he was sure John would want to have a second opinion about Sherlock's state of health and mind, and Molly would be the one who could do it.

In the end, he found himself at the address he predicted correctly that John would be at. Unfortunately, the method in which he arrived was not the way he had planned it when Mrs. Hudson drove him there in the boot of her car. Nevertheless, he arrived, and knew he just had to make sure John would take him seriously and work with him to expose the killer for old times sake.

It was a relief when Molly arrived as he had hoped she would, with a fully equipped ambulance. She always came through for him, no matter what. He might have been high as a kite, but he still knew he loved her desperately. Despite the drugs in his system, Sherlock was beginning to change his mind about the decisions he had made in regard to Molly and his future with her. And when he got clean again, that would bear thinking about.

He couldn't help the sudden leap of his heart as he spied Molly, even as he walked a little unsteadily, heading out of the front door towards the ambulance. "Ready to go, Molly? Just tell me when to cough." Then he added, to prove he remembered texting her, "Hope you remembered my coat."

As Sherlock entered the ambulance, he had to admit, he was looking forward to spending a few minutes alone with Molly before the rest of his plan played out.

* * *

 **Author's note:** So, Sherlock's descent into drugs has happened quickly. I'm not going to drag this out as long as the events from the first episode of season 4! As you can see, Sherlock is already second-guessing his rash actions with Molly and realising he is not being fair to either her, Victoria or their unborn child. So, what do you think is going to happen in the ambulance? That seems to be a popular storyline for authors to write about! Go on, have a guess! What is your own headcanon about what went on in there? What do you wish had gone on in there?

Hope you like my little explanation for the three recording devices in the coat!


	37. The Dying Detective

After that short conversation with Sherlock at John's flat, Molly did not hear again from him for two weeks. She knew from Mrs. Hudson that for a week he had closeted himself in his flat and allowed nobody to see him but Billy Wiggins, the young man she had seen that one time at the lab, the one Sherlock had told her was helping him on Christmas Day. She couldn't help worrying why Sherlock was once again wanting to solicit the services of that young man, but she no longer had the right to say anything about it. Sherlock did not seek out Victoria, and again, Molly wondered if it was because he was back on drugs or because he was no longer wishing to see his daughter. After all, he had told her not to say he was the father, but she didn't know if he was referring to their unborn baby or Victoria as well. Interestingly, Victoria had mentioned speaking to Sherlock on the phone when she was still staying with her grandparents.

During their brief conversation at John's though, Sherlock hadn't said anything aside from asking about John, so it was entirely possible he wanted to cut himself off from her and both of their children, so perhaps that last conversation with Victoria had been his way of saying goodbye. She didn't know what she feared most, Sherlock succumbing to addiction once again, or Sherlock no longer caring about them.

Circumstances being what they were, Molly decided it was time to give Mrs. Hudson a break from watching Victoria and was able to employ a child minder upon the recommendation of a work colleague. Mrs. Hudson was disappointed but understanding. She too was concerned about Sherlock and agreed that it was in Victoria's best interests to not be around Sherlock, especially if he was back on drugs, which she too suspected.

Victoria had asked several times why she couldn't see her daddy and stay uith Nanny Hudders, and Molly had been forced to lie, to say that he was occupied with an important case and that Nanny Hudders was busy helping him. She hated lying to her daughter, but didn't know what else she could do. She couldn't tell Victoria that her father didn't want to see her anymore. She still held onto the shred of hope that things between them would change and he would at least be willing to take responsibility for his children. At least the morning sickness had passed and she was feeling better physically. She couldn't help remembering though how Sherlock had been so solicitous on the one occasion he had been with her. Yes, he certainly had cared at that point. Was it possible for someone's affection to disappear so abruptly?

These thoughts kept Molly distracted when she wasn't working, swirling through her mind continuously, like a song set on repeat.

And then, out of the blue, Molly received a cryptic text from Sherlock. He furnished her with an address and a time. The weird thing was the date he wanted her to go there was two weeks in the future. He also requested the services of an ambulance. She supposed he was playing another stupid little game, or working on another case. One never knew with Sherlock. As usual though, she followed his instructions. It was rather odd however, because he also sent a second text, requesting that she bring his coat.

With no other communication from Sherlock, Molly made an appointment for her second ultrasound scan. She recalled how he had assured her that he would be there for this one, and she felt overwhelmingly disappointed that once again she was alone. Fortunately, the scan indicated that everything was progressing well with the baby. She had hoped to find out if it was a boy or a girl, but the obstinate little one refused to cooperate. Oh well, Molly reflected, it didn't matter really. She would love the new baby just as much if it turned out to be a boy or a girl.

By the time the day Sherlock had requested arrived, Molly had come to know that Sherlock was working on some case, going so far as to publicly state that a man known for his philanthropy, Culverton Smith, was a serial killer.

Molly pulled in a few favours with a friend, Chelsea, in IT, to get the services of an ambulance and two men to accompany her. Luckily for Sherlock, it was a quiet day at the hospital and an ambulance was available to be dispatched to the address she supplied, with her inside it. She arrived at the address Sherlock had given her, along with his coat and was most surprised to find John there. More distressing though was that Sherlock was obviously as high as a kite. This was a blow that she had expected, but it still hurt. At least she now knew he had a valid reason for avoiding Victoria, and she was glad he had not subjected his daughter to that again. It had been hard enough for Victoria to see her father in that state on the day he had been preparing to leave for Europe.

When Molly joined Sherlock in the ambulance, she discovered his condition was much, much worse than she could have imagined. He was patiently seated on the gurney, waiting for her to examine him.

Once Molly closed the door, Sherlock moved forward and knocked on the window that separated the cab from the rear of the ambulance. As soon as the driver opened the window, Sherlock said, "Follow that limo."

The driver turned around to look at Molly questioningly.

"Just do it," she sighed, as Sherlock closed the window and resumed his position on the gurney. Feeling the stuffiness of the ambulance, Molly opened the top button of her blouse. She felt so constricted all of a sudden.

"You should undo a few more of those, maybe even all of them," Sherlock suggested with a heated glance towards her chest area, and she blushed, but didn't respond. She knew he was only flirting with her because he was high.

She turned her back on Sherlock to get the blood pressure cuff and next moment felt his arms slide about her from behind. His hands slid over her belly which was beginning to show her pregnancy, although she had still managed to hide it with baggy clothes. She wouldn't be able to hide it too much longer though. At least those early bouts with morning sickness meant she had not gained much weight as yet, which was a plus.

"You're beginning to show, Molly," he murmured, caressing her belly.

"Yeah," she responded dryly, "that tends to happen as a baby grows."

"Are you still suffering from morning sickness?" he asked, still circling her abdomen.

"No," she responded shortly. "We're not here to discuss my pregnancy anyway, Sherlock." Despite her terse words, she could feel her heartbeat accelerate at his touch, wishing she could just lean back into him. Oh, how she had missed him. Reluctantly though, she pulled away and turned to face him.

"I am sorry I haven't been there for you again," he said sincerely and she pressed her lips together as he continued. "I know I let you down."

she swallowed. "Yes, you did let me down, but I'm used to it." She spoke simply, trying to keep the hurt out of her voice. This was not the time to discuss their issues. "Now lift up your sleeve and hold out your arm."

Sherlock unbuttoned his sleeve and slid it up, holding out his arm obediently. She placed the cuff on it, but not before she saw the telltale needle marks. He hadn't even tried to keep her from the truth this time. Oh yes, he had been using, and frequently too, by the looks of the slight bruising around multiple track marks. His blood pressure was sky high as well and her heart lurched.

When she used a stethoscope to listen to his heartbeat, it was incredibly fast too, dangerously so. "Your heartbeat is extremely elevated, Sherlock," she told him, unable to keep the concern out of her voice.

"It's always elevated when I'm around you, sweetheart," he told her silkily, attempting to pull her into him.

"Just stop it, Sherlock." Her voice was a little unsteady. Why was he doing this to her now? She supposed the drugs in his system were releasing his inhibitions. Despite herself, she still thrilled at him calling her sweetheart again. She tried not to think of the way he was making her feel, but instead concentrated on the matter at hand. "How long have you been doing this to yourself?"

Sherlock furrowed his brow. "I haven't been keeping track exactly. Maybe a month?"

Molly thinned her lips. "So basically ever since we last spoke," she commented heavily then asked, "Why are you abusing your body this way?"

He thought for a few moments, as if trying to get around a short-circuit in his mind palace, something that frightened the hell out of her. She'd never seen him so - _slow_. She was used to rapid-fire and confident responses. "It's for a very important case. I need to catch a serial killer - Culverton Smith, you know."

She sighed. "Yeah, I've seen it all over the internet." Her voice trembled slightly as she continued, "Well, you won't be catching anyone if you're dead. And my children will be growing up without a father, so thanks a lot for your consideration, or lack thereof."

Sherlock's hands clenched and unclenched convulsively. "I...I didn't mean for things to go this far, Molly. I thought I could control it, but It's getting worse - I'm getting worse. John hates me and I need to show him I'm still a good person, that I am still Sherlock Holmes, his friend. I'm so close to getting Smith, Molly. I can feel it." She could hear the desperation in Sherlock's voice for the first time and it frightened her even more. She knew he always went above and beyond when it came to his friends, and here he was, putting his life on the line _again_.

"You won't be feeling anything if you're dead." She looked at him - the way he couldn't stop his hands from shaking, his dilated pupils, and knew the way he was going, his body would be shutting down on him soon. "Please don't do this." She blinked back tears. "Your life is not your own. People care about you. I care about you. Victoria cares about you. She loves you. Please, Sherlock, get off this dangerous path."

His expression as he looked at her was suddenly tender. The last time he had looked at her that way had been before he left for Morocco. "I will, Molly. Soon, I promise." She was very surprised by what he said next. "Let me just talk to our baby for a minute."

Molly didn't understand what Sherlock was playing at, but she allowed him to push aside her lab coat and green cardigan. When he would have unbuttoned the bottom of her blouse, she pushed his hands away. "That's far enough."

Sherlock pouted, but leaned down and whispered to their unborn child, "Daddy's going to catch a killer, and then he's going to talk to your mummy and figure some things out." He rubbed Molly's abdomen and straightened up.

Molly listened to his words and desperately wished for it to be the truth. She had prayed for him every night before she went to sleep, that his heart would be unburdened and that he would come to understand that he needed her, that he couldn't do everything alone. A tiny piece of hope sparked within her.

Sherlock sat back down on the gurney then and she joined him. Hesitatingly, she reached out a hand for him and he took it. They didn't speak again, just sat quietly for the rest of the journey. It was only when they reached their destination, that he turned his head to whisper into her ear, "When this is over, I have a lot of thinking to do." She felt the brush of his lips against her temple. The shadow of a smile crossed her lips as she stood up to open the ambulance door to let Sherlock out, but then it faltered. He still needed to survive, and at the rate he was going, if the case didn't break soon, he wouldn't be around to do any thinking.

John hurried towards her, waiting for her report.

It was devastating to hear the cavalier way Sherlock responded when she told him in front of John that he would be dead in a matter of weeks if he kept going as he was. She knew instinctively that he was merely posturing, but that didn't make it easier to listen to.

"I'm worried about you, Molly. You seem very stressed," he said casually.

"I'm stressed - you're dying," she responded in no uncertain terms.

Sherlock's flippant response made her want to simultaneously slap him and hold him. "Yeah, well, I'm ahead then. Stress can ruin every day of your life. Dying can only ruin one." She was tempted to retort that his dying would ruin every day of _her_ life, but of course she could not reveal that in front of John.

She watched in silence as Sherlock tried to enlist John's help, then as he was greeted by the man he claimed was a serial killer. She had to admit she was repulsed by the man and his ingratiating manner, but a serial killer?

Sherlock gave her one last smouldering look that left her weak at the knees before heading off into the studio where Smith was filming a commercial.

Molly returned to Bart's, and work. Her mind was preoccupied with thoughts of Sherlock and their conversation, and she couldn't figure out what his game was this time. He seemed to enjoy torturing her with his cryptic comments and actions. Perhaps everything was a game to him, and he was dangling her on a string like a yo-yo, up - down - up - down.

No matter how hard Molly tried to make sense of things, the answers eluded her, so she supposed she would just have to let things play out and keep praying that Sherlock didn't kill himself before she could discover what he had meant by saying he needed to think about things.

She picked up Victoria after work from the child minder and returned home, following their nightly routine automatically and dealing with her toddler's wails of "I want Daddy!" She didn't know how much longer she could make excuses for him.

That evening she caught the news and saw that Sherlock was in hospital, being treated for injuries sustained during an altercation that involved Culverton Smith. She didn't know what had happened, but assumed it had something to do with the case. Nevertheless, her concern for him resulted in a restless night. It was fortunate the following day was Saturday and she was not scheduled to work.

In the morning, Molly turned on the telly as she fed Victoria her breakfast. She wasn't really paying attention until she heard the name Culverton Smith. Molly could hardly believe her ears. Sometime the previous night, Culverton Smith had been exposed as the serial killer Sherlock had accused him of being. Relief hit Molly in a wave that was so forceful she had to sit down and take a few deep breaths. Whatever had happened, it meant that Sherlock was done with this case, and she hoped he would be able to get clean again.

More good news followed later in the day, which pleased her immensely. Although Molly still did not know what had happened the previous night, the result of it was that Sherlock and John were friends once again. John sent a text, thanking her for being there the previous day and examining Sherlock, and to say that he knew she would be glad to know they were no longer on the outs. Molly knew instinctively that this would probably go a long way towards Sherlock pulling himself up by his boot-straps and getting clean again. To that end, as if to reinforce the fact, John sent another text shortly afterwards to say Sherlock was coming home from hospital, against doctor's orders, and would she mind watching Sherlock along with Mrs. Hudson and himself in shifts, so he could detox?

Naturally, Molly readily agreed. She knew she would do anything to help Sherlock get through this and return to being himself again. She also hoped it would provide the opportunity for them to talk once more, to at least rebuild their friendship if nothing more. John had forgiven Sherlock, perhaps Sherlock could finally forgive himself.

She contemplated bringing Victoria with her, but decided against it, worried that the toddler might be distressed if she saw her daddy's state. Undoubtedly he would have hand tremors and possible mood swings. She arranged for the same child minder to watch her daughter until ten o'clock that night, then headed to Baker Street. On the way, John sent her another text.

"Guess what I just discovered? It's Sherlock's birthday. Wonder how old he is?"

Molly stared at it in surprise. Sherlock had kept his birthday a closely guarded secret for years. She knew of course, having prepared his death certificate years earlier, even knew because of it that today was actually his fortieth birthday, and she wondered how the admission had come about, but decided it didn't matter. Perhaps a celebration with cake would cheer Sherlock up, help get his mind off things. So she sent a text to John with the name of a cake shop, telling him they needed to celebrate with cake, and to meet her there. She was tempted to tell John it was Sherlock's fortieth birthday, but decided it was not her place to disclose something so personal. If Sherlock did not like to celebrate his birthday, he probably had no desire for anyone to know his age either. She then instructed the taxi driver to go to the cake shop instead of Baker Street.

Molly arrived first and positioned herself to see the men when they arrived. When they did, Molly was quick to notice that Sherlock, who was wearing that dreadful deerstalker, was still unshaven and he had stitches above his left eyebrow. He also seemed to be moving somewhat stiffly. Apparently that fight had been rather intense. She was amazed that Culverton Smith, who seemed not at all the kind of man who would be able to beat Sherlock in a fight, could have done such damage. Perhaps Sherlock's reflexes had been slow due to his drug-addled state.

She made no comment though, not wishing to embarrass Sherlock in front of John, but merely motioned for the men to sit. She had already ordered three slices of chocolate cake, remembering it was Sherlock's favourite, and they were on the table. When he saw it, he smiled at her and her heart leapt.

 _What is it about an unshaven Sherlock that is so attractive?_ she wondered.

If John had been absent, Molly had the feeling she would have been tempted to kiss him. What would it feel like to kiss him when he wasn't clean shaven?

She was interrupted from her thoughts by John. "Molly? Did you hear me? I said that Mrs. Hudson will take over for you later tonight so Sherlock won't be alone. I know you have to get your daughter."

Molly blinked and darted a glance at Sherlock before responding. "Er, yes, That's right. I did arrange to pick her up from the child minder at ten."

John nodded. "Speaking of which, I need to get going as well so I can see my own daughter. Thanks for the cake, Molly." He then looked at Sherlock. "Don't forget, I'll be over at six in the morning to take over from Mrs. Hudson. I think it is best that for tonight at least you not remain alone. We'll all get through this together."

"Thank you, John. I do appreciate that."

John turned to Molly. "If Mrs. Hudson is okay with staying in Sherlock's flat for the next few days during the day, how would you feel about alternating evenings with me so that she can take a break.?"

Molly bit her lip and thought for a moment. She could probably leave work, pick up Victoria, eat dinner and then head over to Baker Street. "Yes," she said, "I think that would work out fine. Should I take Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday or Monday, Wednesday and Friday?" She looked pointedly at Sherlock. "Would it be okay with you if I brought Victoria with me? I could pick her up after work, go home to eat, then head to Baker Street afterwards."

"Of course you can bring your daughter," responded Sherlock magnanimously and Molly almost rolled her eyes at his affected casual tone. "And you'll bring Rosie too, John? I'm sure it would help my recovery, you know, offer me a distraction," he continued, looking at John.

"I did say you'd have to see Rosie soon, so I suppose It would save me a few quid if I bring her along," agreed John, who then addressed Molly once again. "Why don't you do tomorrow night as well? One less day of picking your daughter up from work."

Molly gave a short nod of acquiescence.

John stood and clasped Sherlock's shoulder briefly, then exited the cake shop. Molly felt very glad to see them on good terms again and she couldn't help making a comment about it.

"I'm so glad you and John have sorted things out, Sherlock," she said warmly to the man sitting across from her.

Sherlock reached a hand up to his stitched up eyebrow. "I wasn't sure it would happen there for awhile, but I'm relieved things came right in the end as well," was his cryptic comment. Then he smiled at her, and her stomach did a flip-flop."Well, shall we?"

"Shall we what?" Molly asked, forcing herself to listen to his voice instead of stare at the perfect curves of his cupid's bow lips. She was still rather unnerved by how attractive she found him in this unshaven state.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at her. "Return to Baker Street of course. Aren't you supposed to be on babysitting duty with me?"

Molly blushed slightly, hoping he wouldn't notice the way her chest was rising and falling a little more rapidly than it should be. She adopted a casual tone as she stood. "Oh yes, I guess so, but only on one condition."

He quirked an eyebrow. "You're giving me conditions now?"

Molly folded her arms. "Yes. You take off that ridiculous hat. Just because you're Sherlock Holmes the famous detective, when you're around me I don't need you to be that person. You're just you."

He smiled slightly at that, took off the hat and shoved it into his Belstaff. "Thank you for reminding me that you can see me, not just the detective as others do," he said and there was an intent expression on his face.

She gave him a rather shy return smile. "Anytime."

They walked outside and Sherlock, with his usual uncanny gift for flagging down passing taxi cabs, found one almost immediately and off they went.

* * *

 **Author's note:** Aren't you glad I didn't drag out the events from this episode of the show? Can you see them making tentative steps towards one another again? I really changed this from the way it was originally written when Sherlock just felt guilt all the way pretty much till the I Love You scene and ignored Molly completely. But, as I went back over it and revised, then added more content, I really didn't want him to be that way. He's not stupid. In his right mind, past the grief, he can see that his actions are just hurting Molly and their children as well as himself. So, I changed the story quite a bit from the original. I hope you like it better this way. Or would you have preferred to see him tormented longer and tormenting Molly too? Only one obstacle left and it's going to have a little twist as to why things are still not progressing by the time of that dramatic scene.

Thoughts and responses appreciated as always.


	38. An Honest Recounting Of Events

**Author's note:** So, this is the longest chapter yet! Hope it was worth the wait. Just a heads up that I have a very busy time coming up over the next several weeks with my daughter's high school graduation party next Saturday and my sister from Australia coming for a visit until early August. This means I will probably only get one chapter of this published per week along with one chapter of my next story in my " _Realizations of Love Dreams"_ series. Perhaps it will give some of you an opportunity to try out some of my earlier stories and comment on them. One can only hope!

* * *

As they sat together in the taxi, Molly was very aware of Sherlock, of the fact that they were alone and the case was over. She wondered if Sherlock still wanted to talk with her, recalling the words he had spoken the previous day to their unborn child.

" _Daddy's going to catch a killer, and then he's going to talk to your mummy and figure some things out."_

She cleared her throat, feeling the extended silence between them becoming awkward.

"Would you tell me what happened yesterday after I examined you?"

Somewhat surprisingly, he did. He told her about watching Culverton Smith poke fun at his serial killer allegations by filming a cereal commercial and saying the line, "Did you know I am a cereal killer?"

Then Sherlock went on to explain his visit to the hospital, a wing of which was named after Culverton Smith, to talk to some children.

he looked at her. "I'm afraid I really wasn't in any condition to be speaking to children, but I did it at Smith's insistence. I kind of messed up my stories a bit."

Molly looked at him suspiciously and folded her arms. "Did you shoot up again beforehand?"

He gave her a guilty look. "I needed some Dutch courage to face the kids." Then he added hastily, "and it was no picnic listening to Culverton Smith taunt me by asking how I catch serial killers."

She sighed. "Oh, Sherlock. Please tell me that was the last time you injected yourself with those poisons."

"It was, Molly." He leaned towards her, but at that moment the taxi pulled over to the kerb. "I guess I'll tell you the rest when we get upstairs," he told her.

Once they were in the flat, Sherlock sat in his chair while Molly sat opposite him. She observed the tremors in his hands, indicating he was suffering withdrawal although he showed no other outward signs of it.

"So what happened after you spoke to the children at the hospital?" she questioned.

Sherlock winced slightly and adjusted his position. "Oh, Smith wanted to show me his favourite room in the hospital." There was a twist to his lips as he continued. "It was the mortuary. You should've heard the things he said, Molly. He was basically confessing without actually doing so, putting everything into a hypothetical situation."

Molly suddenly remembered something she had heard on the news report from Culverton Smith's own lips the previous night and gasped. "Sherlock, on the news last night, when it was reported you were in the hospital and Culverton Smith was being interviewed about it, he said he didn't want to press charges and that he was a fan of yours." She swallowed. "He…he said he might even move you to his favourite room."

"The mortuary," Sherlock breathed. "Well, he certainly planned to do that."

Molly bit her lip. "Sorry for interrupting. Please go on with your story. I want to know everything."

Sherlock looked at her and nodded. It felt good to know that he was willing to tell her everything. It showed he still cared about her, even if only as a friend. He told her about the woman, Culverton Smith's daughter who entered the mortuary. She had been the client who had alerted Sherlock to her father's activities, only it wasn't the same woman. Sherlock's face clouded as he said this, and he ran a trembling hand through his hair. "I still can't figure it out, Molly. I guess somehow I must've hallucinated things? It just doesn't make sense."

Molly could see he was beginning to become agitated, so she pressed him to continue on with his story.

His brow furrowed. "This woman was saying she had never met me, and Smith was laughing at me. I don't know, somehow I became convinced that he had taken a scalpel, but instead I was the one with the scalpel. God, Molly, I was out of control. That's when John wrestled the scalpel away from me. And then, well, John went ballistic and beat the crap out of me."

Molly's eyes widened in shock. Righteous indignation on Sherlock's behalf filled her and she exclaimed angrily, "John did this to you? Why on earth would he be so aggressive towards you?" She looked again at the stitches by Sherlock's eyebrow. By the way Sherlock was moving uncomfortably, she suspected his ribs might be bruised as well.

Sherlock's lips pressed together. "Because I deserved it. Because I killed his wife and he agreed." She suddenly noticed his eyes were filling with tears and one trickled down his cheek.

She stood then and walked over to Sherlock's chair. Without conscious thought, just knowing she wanted to comfort him, she sat on the edge of the chair and put an arm around his shoulders. "Sherlock, you didn't kill Mary. She made her own choice to take that bullet for you. You must stop holding yourself responsible for that." Impulsively, she reached her free hand out to brush the curls from his forehead and kissed it.

Sherlock gave a shuddering breath. "John told me the same thing today, that it wasn't my fault. But I still feel guilty, Molly. Rosie is still without a mother and John is without a wife because of me."

"Oh, dear God, I'm so sorry, Sherlock. But you have to understand you didn't ask her to save you."

Sherlock suddenly pulled her onto his lap and buried his face against her shoulder. His voice was muffled as he said, "Today I told John that in saving my life, Mary conferred a value on it and that it was a currency I did not know how to spend."

She stroked his curls, feeling the wetness of his tears at her neck. "Well, I know she wouldn't want you to be unhappy for the rest of your life. What would be the value in that? Let me help you, Sherlock." Her own eyes were shining with tears by this time. She had to make Sherlock understand.

He pulled his head back then and looked at her searchingly. "I pushed you away because I felt guilty and felt that I didn't deserve you. Perhaps I still don't, but I realise I do need you Molly, more than anything."

"I'm here for you, Sherlock." And with that, his lips found hers and she closed her eyes, feeling the desperation in his kiss, the need for comfort. Her skin tingled at the roughness from his stubbled skin, and in the back of her mind she decided she much preferred it when he was clean-shaven, even if he did _look_ incredibly hot with that stubble. Nevertheless, she gave back what he sought, letting him know without words that she would be there for him.

When their lips parted, he touched his forehead to hers. "I'm sorry for everything, Molly. I don't know why you put up with me."

In her heart she said, _Because I love you, because I've always loved you_. Out loud, however, she said, "Because I care about you, Sherlock. I think you're worth saving."

He stiffened suddenly and pulled back. "Don't say that, Molly. I would never want to see you sacrifice yourself for me the way Mary did."

"Well, I was talking about saving you from yourself and supporting you, but I hope we wouldn't get into any situations like that." She looked at him searchingly. "I still want you to be part of Victoria and our new baby's life, you know."

Sherlock's eyes drifted downward. "I've been thinking about that. I want you to know that I've changed my mind. I do want to be there for you, Victoria and our baby. I know I shouldn't be asking this and God knows I wouldn't blame you if you just wanted to walk away from this mess that I've created, but can you give me a little more time to sort things through? I need to get clean and I need to work on my friendship with John. Our restored friendship is a tenuous one and I don't wish for him to feel betrayed again by announcing out of the blue everything that has happened between you and me and the fact that we have a daughter and another child on the way. It would just come as another betrayal to him." He closed his eyes briefly then opened them again." I should have listened to Mary. She told me I should just tell John and I refused. God, I'm so good at messing things up."

Molly reached out and linked her fingers with his. She could feel again the slight tremor that indicated his body was still suffering from withdrawal. "We still have a little time before I really start to show. If you need some time to get things back to normal, I'm prepared to wait. Just don't disappoint me again, Sherlock. I don't think I could take it."

He pulled his hand away from hers, and for a brief moment she thought perhaps he was going to decide once again to push her away. But then she felt his hand against her belly, caressing it in much the same way he had done the previous day." I told you that I wanted to be there for your scan. Did you schedule it yet? Can you put it off for a little while?"

Molly sighed. "I had it already a few days ago. Everything's fine, by the way."

"I'm sorry I wasn't there," he said sincerely, looking somewhat disappointed. "Did you find out if we are having a boy or girl?"

Molly shook her head. "No. The baby kept its back turned. Even some gentle jiggling on the part of the technician on my belly didn't yield any results. So I guess it will be a surprise."

"Does Victoria know yet that she is going to be a big sister?" he enquired. His hand was still resting on Molly's belly and suddenly she felt very aware of him and that she was sitting on his lap. Hastily she slid off his lap and retreated back to John's chair.

"I haven't said anything yet. I was hoping things would be settled between us first," she admitted, blushing slightly.

Sherlock nodded his understanding. "Speaking of Victoria, where is she? She has apparently not been with Mrs. Hudson lately."

Molly twisted the end of her braid around her finger. "How do you know she hasn't been staying with Mrs. Hudson?"

"For one thing, she wasn't with you today at the cake shop, nor with Mrs. Hudson. In addition, I don't know for sure prior to yesterday, but Mrs. Hudson was obviously not watching her if she was able to drive me in the boot of her Aston Martin to that address I told you about."

"I've been using the services of a child minder because Mrs. Hudson said you've been behaving erratically, and I didn't want Victoria exposed to that." Then she registered the second half of what Sherlock had said and looked at him in astonishment. "That red car belonged to her? And she drove you there in her boot?" Suddenly she burst into laughter. "Oh, that must've been a sight to behold!"

Sherlock folded his arms, looking offended. "It was no picnic, Molly. She handcuffed me first. Could've killed me, driving like a maniac as she did."

Molly laughed again. "Oh my gosh, Sherlock. You've survived so many times from things that should have killed you, jumping off a roof, gunshots. An ignominious death in the boot of a car would have been a truly awful, unromantic way to go."

Molly laughed for another couple moments as Sherlock continued to look affronted, then she sobered suddenly. "You'll have to tell me more about that sometime, but you still haven't told me how you ended up exposing Culverton Smith as the killer he was."

"Oh, that's right, I didn't. Well, when I was in my hospital room, Smith came in through a secret entrance. He helped with the design of his wing of the hospital, you know, and he said he kept hiring and firing architects and builders so nobody realised what he was doing, getting access to certain rooms in order to kill people."

Molly fave him a shocked look. "So he tried to kill you as well?"

"That was rather the point of the whole exercise. I knew what I was doing, Molly. It was a calculated risk I took to put myself in his path, to be his next target."

Molly put her hands over her mouth to stifle her gasp of horror. "How could you even think of doing such a thing? It's obviously by the grace of God that you are still alive. Why do you keep putting God to the test? How many more signs do you need that He's real, and He has saved you multiple times?" Molly couldn't help the desperate tone of her voice.

"Well, technically it was John who did the saving on this occasion, but you've made your point. I'm willing to concede that God may have had something to do with John arriving just in time."

Her brows rose in surprise. "Really? You, Sherlock Holmes, are finally willing to admit there might be a power higher than yourself?" Her heart lifted.

"I may not understand all of your beliefs, but yes. At this point I've seen enough evidence to know I can no longer deny the existence of God."

Molly beamed. "That's wonderful, Sherlock. I'm proud of you for being able to see beyond yourself and to understand that sometimes we just have to accept things on faith." She tilted her head slightly. "So, anyway, what happened next?"

Sherlock took a moment to speak, as if collecting his thoughts. "I was very weak, what with the drugs in my system and my ribs making it difficult for me to breathe without pain. Smith confessed everything to me and then wanted me to tell him how I was feeling." Sherlock swallowed, obviously reliving the memory.

Molly looked at him in concern. "Sherlock, you don't need to relive it. It's okay, I don't need to know if this is too painful for you."

"No," he insisted stubbornly, "I do have to tell you because that's part of the reason why I'm able to talk with you this way today."

Molly bit her lip. "All right then. Go on."

"I told him I was scared of dying. He wanted me to tell him over and over that I didn't want to die, even as he was rolling up his sleeves and preparing to take my life." Sherlock drew in a deep breath. "And when I said it, finally I realised the truth, that no matter how guilty I felt over what had happened with Mary, I didn't actually want to die. I had thought about it, I knew it was a possibility, but at that moment your words came back to me about my life not being my own, and I knew it would be selfish of me to not think about how it would affect other people if I died."

Molly's eyes blurred with tears and she rose again to sit on the edge of Sherlock's chair, taking his hand which was now trembling again, whether from withdrawal or the force of his remembered emotions, she didn't know. "Oh, Sherlock, the whole situation must've been terrible. So John came in and saved you?"

"Yes. I was too weak to pull Smith's hands away from my nose and mouth when he was trying to suffocate me. John came in and pulled him off of me. Guess I owe him one."

Molly pressed her lips together. "Sounds to me like you are even after the beating you took from him." She still couldn't help feeling angry over John's unjustifiable behaviour, but at least he had redeemed himself somewhat by his actions in saving Sherlock's life.

She listened as Sherlock explained the final details, about the recording device in John's cane which would be inadmissible in court, and that it didn't matter because Smith was apparently taking great pleasure in confessing all his sins. And then he told her about his reconciliation with John, that John no longer blamed him for Mary's death.

"He never should have blamed you in the first place," said Molly hotly, gripping his hand tightly.

"Molly, I blamed myself too, still do, at least to a certain extent. He lost his wife and the mother of his child. If that ever happened to you-'' he broke off suddenly, as if fearing he was about to reveal too much and continued, rather lamely, "Well, I don't even want to think about that."

"So, let's get you all better then," Moly said brightly. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

"Not right now," he responded. "I need something to distract me from this damned withdrawal. God, It's never been this hard before." He frowned and closed his eyes, as if trying to assert control with his mind palace.

"How can I help you?" asked Molly, and his hand turned to link with hers.

"I think it would help if I saw Victoria. Can you bring her here?"

"I don't know," Molly said doubtfully. "I'm supposed to be picking her up at ten, but I suppose I could bring her for a little while once Mrs. Hudson takes over." She knew Victoria would be happy to see her daddy.

"I have an idea. Why don't you stay the night?" he suggested. "Victoria can sleep in the bed with us. Please, will you do that for me?"

The idea of sleeping in the same bed as Sherlock once again gave Molly pause for thought. She definitely did not wish to resume a sexual relationship with him when she was not entirely certain of what the future held. He had gone back and forth with the way things stood between them so many times it was dizzying. But then, she reflected, he probably was not even thinking about that in his current state and even if he was, he would not be able to try anything if Victoria was in the bed as well, so finally she nodded. "I...I'll have to speak with Mrs. Hudson. Maybe she can come up here while I go home and get changes of clothes, pick up Victoria and come back. At least tomorrow is Sunday so I'm not working. I guess I can skip church."

"Thank you. Why don't you talk to Mrs. Hudson now? If it's okay with her, she can come up right away and you can do what you need to do and get back here. That way it won't be past Victoria's bedtime either," he added, releasing Molly's hand from his iron grip to pull out his street key from his pocket. "Take my key."

"Alright." She headed downstairs and spoke with Mrs. Hudson who was quite relieved to forgo the nightshift on the sofa and just head up there temporarily while Molly was gone.

Molly went home, picked up what she needed for herself and Victoria, then retrieved her daughter from the child minder and they headed to Baker Street.

Victoria was beside herself with excitement at the prospect of seeing her father after weeks of his absence.

When they arrived at Baker Street, Molly let herself in with Sherlock's key and they went up to 221B.

"Daddy!" squealed the little girl, jumping onto Sherlock's lap where he still sat in his chair, and flinging her arms around his neck, much to the amusement of the women.

 _Just as well she doesn't hold grudges,_ thought Molly with the hint of a smile on her lips.

"Hello, sweetheart," he said fondly, kissing his daughter's cheek. "I missed you."

Tears came into her eyes. "You went away again," she accused.

 _Okay_ , Molly thought, _Apparently Victoria is more aware of the passage of time than I thought with regard to Sherlock's absence_.

"I didn't technically go away, but yes, I was away from you," Sherlock told his daughter apologetically and Molly rolled her eyes. How typical of Sherlock to be so literal. Her expression softened though when he added, "I am sorry. Forgive me," in a tone reminiscent of the one he had used on her all those years earlier at the Christmas party.

Victoria gave him a tremulous smile. "I forgive you." Molly was proud of her daughter. The word forgive was not one that someone her age would typically be familiar with, but it was something Molly had explained to her about when they had attended the Good Friday Service at church a couple weeks earlier after she heard about the words of Jesus on the cross - " _Father forgive them, for they know not what they do."_ Molly had explained that to forgive meant to let go of anger and resentment about something and not continue to hold it against a person.

Molly watched as the man she loved and would always forgive held their daughter close, closed his eyes and they cuddled contentedly as he laid his dark head atop her brown one.

"And how have you been doing?" asked Mrs. Hudson of Molly. "Is everything okay with the baby?" she added quietly so as not to let Victoria hear.

"Things are much better now. I lost weight in the first trimester, but I'm back at the weight I was when I got pregnant now," explained Molly. "Victoria has missed you too, by the way, but you know why I had to keep her away for awhile. Hopefully things can go back to normal soon, if you'd like to resume your role as surrogate grandmother once Sherlock is clean again."

"Of course," replied the landlady, beaming. Then she gave Molly an assessing look. "You know, nobody would even know you're pregnant unless they were specifically looking for it."

"I know. I just look like my belly is a bit larger, like I'm bloated. Just as well," she said with a rather pained smile. "I'm not looking forward to revealing it."

"Surely Sherlock is going to step up and say he's the father? Haven't you sorted things out now?"

"Kind of, but I'm afraid he will let me down again," said Molly with a little sigh, sliding a glance over at Sherlock whose eyes were still closed and lips were curved slightly upwards in contentment. "I've lost count of how many excuses he's made already for not saying we are in a relationship, or that he's Victoria's father. I can't take things for granted anymore."

Mrs. Hudson laid a gentle hand on her arm. "I know his heart's in the right place, dear. If he drags his heels much longer, let me know and I'll toss him into the boot of my car again and give him a nice bumpy ride until he comes to his senses. I can handcuff him again too, if necessary." She gave Molly a sly look. "He keeps those in the salad drawer of the kitchen, in case you need them for any reason." She winked conspiratorially and Molly blushed.

Molly decided to ignore the handcuff comment. "I heard about that. little trip."

"Did he tell you I managed to get his gun away from him as well so that I could force him into the boot?" Mrs. Hudson smirked, then continued. "To be fair, I did enlist the aid of a couple of the workers from Speedy's to help carry him downstairs."

"Ah, no, that sounds very interesting," responded Molly, shaking her head in bemusement. Mrs. Hudson really was a remarkably resourceful woman.

"I must say, I hope I never have to do that again," confided Mrs. Hudson. "Anyway, I guess I'll head downstairs now. Give Victoria a kiss for me. Thanks for relieving me of night duty."

Molly allowed herself a small smile. "I will, and you're welcome."

After Mrs. Hudson had left, Molly looked over to Sherlock and Victoria. Victoria's eyes were also closed, and by her relaxed posture she appeared to be asleep. Sherlock's eyes too were still closed.

Molly decided it was a good time to get herself ready for bed. She took a quick shower, figuring Sherlock wouldn't mind. After the shower, she put on the chemise she always used as a nightie, and added Sherlock's blue dressing gown for modesty. She returned to the sitting room and gently extricated Victoria from her father's arms.

"Come on, sweet pea, let's get you in your pyjamas," she told the sleepy toddler, taking her first to the bathroom to use the toilet. After helping Victoria put on her pyjamas, she got her settled into the middle of Sherlock's bed.

"Sleeping here tonight, Mummy?" murmured her daughter.

"Yes, lovey." Moly brushed the hair from Victoria's forehead and kissed her twice. "That's a kiss from me and from Nanny. Now go to sleep. Daddy and I will be in soon."

"Okay Mummy."

Molly pulled up the duvet and waited until the child had closed her eyes and was asleep, then returned to the sitting room once again.

"Sherlock?" She touched his shoulder gently. "Do you want to go and take a shower and go to bed?"

"Where's Victoria?" he asked, opening his eyes, then groaning slightly. She knew his ribs were hurting because of his awkward position from holding Victoria and reflected she'd have to give John a good talking to. Honestly, no matter how much he had blamed Sherlock for what had happened, there was no excuse for his violent behaviour.

"I've already put her to bed in your room," she explained, then extended her hands to help him rise from his chair. He did so, a little stiffly.

Biting her lip, she asked a little hesitantly. "Do you need me to help you get undressed for your shower?"

His tired eyes came to life and a touch of the old Sherlock returned as he said with a smirk, "Best not. I might be tempted to do...other things besides take a shower."

Molly blushed and released his hands. "Um yeah, best not then." She couldn't help adding, "You might want to consider shaving as well."

Without warning, he pulled her in to himself and bent his head to kiss her for a few heart-stopping seconds until she pulled away and made a little face. Prickly stubble really was not a lot of fun. He gave her a knowing look. "Ah, I deduce you prefer me clean-shaven when I kiss you."

"Yes," she admitted honestly. Then she frowned at him. "Now is not the time to be kissing or talking about it anyway. You need to concentrate on getting better. Go and take your shower," she ordered.

With a sigh, he released her and gave her a mock salute. "Yes, ma'am." Obediently he headed for the bathroom, saying as he went, "Would you fetch me some clean boxers, please?"

"Of course," she responded, heading for the bedroom and suddenly realising she had no idea where he kept them. Perhaps his bedside drawer?

She walked over to it quietly so as not to disturb her sleeping daughter. Immediately she noticed, with a lurch of her heart, the two framed pictures on top that had been laid down. Oh yes, he really had been trying to forget her and their daughter, apparently. She quickly pulled open the top drawer. Nothing but socks and other miscellaneous items. Her eyes alighted on a small velvet box. Apparently he still had the ring he had used to propose to Janine and she couldn't help feeling a stab of jealousy at the thought. Why had he kept it?

Hastily she closed the drawer and opened the bottom one. Ah, there they were. She snatched out a pair of boxers and walked to the bathroom door, tapping on it gently. She could hear the shower running. "I'll just leave your boxers outside the door," she called.

"You can come in if you like," responded Sherlock. "Door's not locked."

Molly hesitated, then opened the door a little and deposited the boxers just inside the door. She tried very hard not to think about Sherlock being naked in the shower. _Stupid, traitorous body,_ she thought to herself, as her breath hitched slightly at the thought. She hastily closed the door on the bathroom and those inappropriate thoughts.

Molly headed to the kitchen and made tea. She could certainly use a cup to soothe her suddenly frayed nerves. She sipped hers as she waited.

When Sherlock emerged from the shower, clean-shaven, bare-chested and hair damp and tousled, her breath hitched at the sight. Then her stomach dropped when she noted the reddened marks that indicated his bruised ribs. Oh yes, John had certainly taken his anger out on Sherlock quite thoroughly.

She was about to tell him she had made tea when she took a closer look at him as he came towards her and realised he was suffering from withdrawal in a more obvious manner than earlier. His teeth had begun to chatter and he was walking a little unsteadily. Of course, he was only in his boxers which did not help matters either. "I'm s...so c...cold," he managed to say as his body began to tremble as well.

Molly stood and walked the final steps to him to brush his curls aside and feel his forehead. Not surprisingly it felt extremely hot to the touch. She knew he was craving a fix by the way his hands kept flexing and unflexing. She could not imagine how unbearable it must be to be suffering the way he was.

Deciding the tea was unimportant, she said, "Come on, let's go to the bedroom, get you under the covers." She reached out a hand and he took it, walking unsteadily with her to the bedroom.

She helped him get under the covers. "Let me get you a flannel for your forehead and a glass of water," she told him. Yes, water would be better than tea to prevent dehydration, she thought, mentally kicking herself for not thinking of that earlier.

"Need you, Molly," he said faintly. "Are you coming to bed now too?"

"Yes, Sherlock. Let me get the flannel and water. I'll be back in a minute."

Tasks accomplished, along with some Panadol she found in a kitchen cupboard that she knew would not interfere in his recovery and might give him at least a little relief, she returned to the bedroom. "Here you go," she told Sherlock, helping him sit back up and offering the glass of water and tablets. When a sceptical look crossed his face, she said, "It's just Panadol I found in the cupboard," he took them and swallowed them along with a few sips of the water.

"Thank you, Molly. You always take such good care of me," he responded sincerely, and Molly wished she could tell him she wanted to do that for the rest of their lives, but now was not the time. She picked up the wet flannel she had temporarily put on the bed and placed it on his forehead.

"That feels good," he said, and added, "but I'm feeling so bloody cold. Are you going to get into bed now, and maybe I can hold you?" he asked hopefully, lifting the covers, and she hesitated.

She had thought to sleep on the other side of Victoria. "Alright," she agreed finally. "I'll have to shift Victoria over though so I can keep my arm over her so she doesn't fall out of bed."

"Fine with me," responded Sherlock, still holding the covers aloft.

Molly slid off the dressing gown and climbed awkwardly over Sherlock, thinking it would have been much easier if he had got out of bed first, then gently moved her sleeping daughter closer to the edge of the bed, looping her arm over her.

She heard Sherlock shift position as he turned off his bedside lamp and then settle back under the duvet himself.

He slid his body closer towards her, until it was up against hers. She could feel the heat emanating from him, and the touch of his lips on her hair. She didn't protest when his arm came around her, cupping her breast through the thin fabric of her chemise.

"Thanks for doing this for me, Molly," he murmured, "You're my guardian angel."

She couldn't help the little sigh of contentment that escaped her lips at his touch and sweet words, and was soon asleep.

* * *

 **Author's note:** Ugh, apologies that this chapter is so long. I already split it once but there was so much to get through and it all takes place in one night, so another split didn't seem logical.

I did research the symptoms of opiate drug withdrawal to make sure it was consistent with what I have written here. I can't imagine how difficult it must have been for Sherlock to go "cold turkey" after getting in so deep with the drugs this time. I also checked to make sure the use of Panadol is safe. It is a very mild pain reliever (the British/Australian equivalent of acetaminophen/Tylenol in America if you would like a comparison). I always try to keep all my facts as accurate as possible. The only suspension of disbelief you should need in this story is how incredibly detailed it is for a dream LOL.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed this chapter as Sherlock and Molly grow a little closer once again. But how am I going to go from this to the events of TFP? Don't worry, you won't have to wait much longer. We are getting close. Are you on the edge of your seat with anticipation?

I do hope you will respond with your thoughts on this chapter. I feel it is one of the best I have written so far and it was hugely altered from the way I wrote it initially over a year ago. In fact, the majority of this chapter did not exist in its original format. Please follow and favourite this story if you feel it is worthy of the recognition so that your actions may draw other readers to my work. You may think your attention to that kind of thing doesn't make a difference, but it really does.


	39. The Road to Recovery

Sherlock lay awake in the darkness for some time. He tried to go into his mind palace to combat the chills he was experiencing. He had not suffered from severe withdrawal like this since his last deep descent into drugs during his uni days, at which point Mycroft had finally intervened and sent him off to rehab to detox. It had been relatively easy to get back off the drugs after the Magnussen case, even the very brief return to them when he was about to leave for Europe. Yes, there was a minor tremor of the hand here and there for a day or two, nothing his mind palace couldn't deal with to take his mind off the urge to get a fix. This was so much worse though. He craved the drugs, craved the way they took away his uncertain feelings and fear for the future. They would also have eased his physical pain from the beating he had been given.

Well, at least he was with Molly, he reflected, and that was some consolation, even if things between them were still unresolved. He gently moved his hand downwards to her belly. Their baby was growing in there, and he still wanted to be able to tell the world that he was the father. He felt a tiny movement suddenly beneath his hand. Perhaps it was just digestive juices settling, but Sherlock rather thought it might be the baby moving, and the thought pleased him immensely.

His mind drifted back to the events of the past few weeks. He hadn't intended for his drug habit to get out of control the way it had. He had merely sought escape. John wasn't talking to him, Mary was dead and of course, he had not been talking with Molly, which was his own, as he thought now, unfortunate choice.. if he had allowed Molly to help him get past what had happened, as she had wanted to do, he would probably have thought of a different way to attract John's attention.

Sherlock remembered instead staying in his flat for a week with nobody but Billy Wiggins for company, as he tried to find a case worthy of Mary's final wishes, to pick a fight with a bad guy and go to hell.

" _Go right into hell, and make it look like you mean it."_

Sherlock still remembered the words from the DVD clearly. He also didn't know what else he could have done to effect a reconciliation with John.

Then a case came to him, in the form of a woman named Faith Smith. He was just shooting up for the third time that day, probably not the greatest idea, when the doorbell rang. He set down the syringe haphazardly, not even attempting to put it out of sight.

He had heard Mrs. Hudson leave a short while earlier, so headed downstairs a little unsteadily to see who was at the door.

At first, he was supremely uninterested in what this woman, this unexpected client, had to say. This was not the Moriarty case he was still waiting on either, which he had already decided was probably not to be forthcoming after all. It seemed more and more likely that the video of Moriarty's image had been just a ploy intended to unsettle him, keep him from ever feeling secure that Moriarty's network was well and truly dissolved.

He made some observations of the woman, not even sure at times how the thoughts had come to him, his brain was so befuddled by the high invading his senses. In the end though, he took the case, fearing the woman, Faith, was about to commit suicide. He knew the signs, had been experiencing some of them himself, but he certainly did not want to reject her and be the cause of yet another person's death.

Seeking distraction and trying to clear his head, he took her out in the rain to get chips. She had headed outside even as Mrs. Hudson, who had returned a few minutes earlier, came out of her flat and expressed concern at him heading outside in such a state, obviously thinking he was going out alone. It was the first time he had ventured outside the flat in over a week and he suspected Mycroft would be monitoring him. He forced himself to think past the fog in his brain, to explain what he could deduce about the woman who had come to him for help even as he walked in certain random directions to let his brother know he was quite aware he was being watched.

Sherlock found himself interested in the fact that the woman was convinced her father, Culverton Smith, was a murderer. He knew the name, of course. Smith was a well-known philanthropist who had even had the wing of a hospital named after him. The idea that the man could be a serial killer though, it was intriguing. If it was true, Sherlock knew he had found the right bad guy to pick a fight with. Perhaps stopping the serial killer would go some way in redeeming himself for being the cause of Mary losing her life. Perhaps it would make his life worth living once again.

By the end of the night, Sherlock had determined Faith Smith's father was most certainly the serial killer she claimed him to be, even if he ended up back in his flat in a delirious haze and was told in no uncertain terms by Billy that he had had too much. Yes, the third fix had been a mistake.

The following day, Sherlock began a campaign to expose Smith. In one of his more lucid moments he sent a text to Molly. He had deduced John would soon seek out a new therapist to visit on his lunch hour. He also made arrangements to see Culverton Smith on the same day, using the therapist's address for both Molly and Smith. He had a daring plan to force a confession from Smith. He needed to be Culverton Smith's next victim.

When the actual day arrived though, it was Mrs Hudson who got Sherlock to the location he required, when he told her John would be at that address. He couldn't even remember at that point how he had figured it out. He had planned on just taking a taxi, but when Mrs. Hudson had taken his gun away and pointed it at him, he had told her where he needed to go.

He had not appreciated being handcuffed and manhandled into the boot of her car by two clumsy Speedy's Café employees who managed to drop him twice as they carried him downstairs and out to the car, which Mrs. Hudson had somehow managed to get round to Baker Street. Apparently the car, which he had never seen before, was kept somewhere nearby.

Somewhat to Sherlock's surprise, he discovered his deductive powers must have been functioning correctly when he had made his deductions about John. John was indeed at the address, and still uncooperative, as he had suspected his former friend would be. He needed Molly to confirm he wasn't playing a game and hoped she would show up as he had asked.

He vaguely remembered asking her to bring his coat that he had left at her place weeks earlier. That coat, as well as being his favourite, was also the one that currently housed three separate, secret recording devices, in the form of a pen, a USB flash drive and a miniature torch. He'd probably be needing those recording devices, although he did have a contingency plan, in the form of a tiny recorder in the top of John's old cane.

At least he'd be able to put the coat on if Molly did as he asked. He was confident that she would have the wherewithal to procure the ambulance he needed in order for her to give him a proper examination, to prove he was indeed under the influence of drugs. But would she do it, given the way he had pushed her away? His whole plan hinged on her confirming to John that he was in a very serious condition.

Thank God for Molly. She didn't let him down. Seeing Molly again had almost brought him back to reality. He was already feeling the effects of withdrawal when she examined him. The tremors were setting in, a sign that he needed another fix - and soon. He was extremely relieved to discover Molly had remembered his coat as requested. He also found himself flirting with her. Even high, she had an extraordinary effect on him. It was enough to tell him he needed to once again rethink their situation. Feeling her abdomen had caused him to feel a surge of protectiveness for their unborn child. The baby was innocent, conceived in love, and deserved to have the chance to get to know both parents - if he survived the case.

 _Yes_ , Sherlock decided, _if I don't die, it will be a sign from God that I need to try and work things out again with Molly_. Molly had told him his life was not his own and he vaguely recalled telling Faith Smith the same thing.

After she examined him, he left her behind to continue his case, giving her a last look, trying to convey the fact that he still cared about her.

Sherlock's mind palace replayed the rest of the events of the previous day, skimming over everything that had happened up until he had been lying in that hospital bed, faced with the real possibility of his death.

The gamble with his life had not seemed such a big deal until Smith had made him confront his true feelings on the matter. He had supposed he was ready to die if necessary, if his calculations about John were incorrect, but it was only at that point he had fully understood that dying would have an impact on the lives of others. He didn't want to die. He wanted to see Molly again and his daughter. He wanted to have the opportunity to meet his unborn child and by God, he wanted to know that John no longer held him responsible for Mary's death.

Sherlock's mind fast-forwarded again even as he thought about earlier today, once he had returned home and John was with him, after they had tenuously restored the strands of their friendship. He had received a text from that blasted Irene Adler. It had been several months since her last one, where he had once again told her he did not wish to have dinner with her. John had correctly deduced it was his birthday, but had gone on to make completely erroneous assumptions about The Woman. As John railed at him about Irene, Sherlock thought instead of the woman he truly loved, his Molly. _Soon,_ he resolved, _soon I'm going to make things right with her, tell her I was wrong to try and cut her and our children out of my life._

Talking with Molly about what had happened had been rather cathartic and he felt some hope again for the future. Now he just needed to concentrate on getting clean.

Sherlock felt Molly's body against his and heard her deep, even breathing. He had no idea how long he'd been replaying the events of the past day, but finally, his chills had subsided and he too was able to sleep.

Sherlock was roused from a sound sleep by a hand patting his cheek. He opened his eyes to see Victoria leaning over him and Molly standing beside the bed. Both were fully dressed.

"Bye bye, Daddy," his daughter said and he looked over at Molly questioningly.

"I thought it might be best if we leave before John arrives and asks questions," she told him by way of explanation. "I'm going to ask if Mrs. Hudson will come up here in the meantime. He'll probably be here in half an hour."

Sherlock sat up, rubbing a weary hand across his face, then took Victoria's hand. "Be good for Mummy and I'll see you soon, okay?"

She nodded and he kissed her cheek.

Molly helped her off the bed and Sherlock suddenly shivered. He could feel the withdrawal coming on again and knew Molly noticed when she said, "Do you want me to get you anything before I go - wet the flannel for your head again perhaps?"

"No," he responded. "I'll be okay. Guess I'll get dressed now anyway and wait for Mrs. Hudson so we can be talking when John comes up. "You'll be back again tonight then, right?"

Moly rolled her eyes. "Weren't you at the cake shop when we talked about it? Want me to pick something up for us for dinner? There's a KFC down the street, and I haven't had that in awhile. It will be a treat for Victoria too."

Sherlock shrugged, and then winced. Apparently, shrugging was not a good thing to do with bruised ribs. "Sounds good. I don't think I've had that since John lived here."

Apparently Victoria was a fan of KFC because she piped up with, "Yes, Mummy, chicken!"

"See you tonight." Molly took her daughter's hand and left the bedroom and a minute later he heard the sound of the front door opening and closing behind them.

Sherlock couldn't help feeling unaccountably disappointed. Not even a goodbye kiss? Apparently his charms of late left something to be desired.

Sighing, he slid out of bed and dressed, hearing Mrs. Hudson enter with her usual "Hoo hoo," when he was almost finished.

Before leaving the bedroom however, he knew he had to do one last thing. Carefully he picked up the face-down photo frames and returned them to their upright position on his bedside table. _Much better,_ he reflected, then headed out to greet the new day and his landlady.

John, when he arrived a few minutes after six, with Rosie, gave no indication that he knew Molly, rather than Mrs. Hudson had stayed overnight. In fact, he asked the elderly woman how Sherlock had been and the dear woman had glibly said he was no trouble at all. She had slept like a log.

 _Of course she did, she was in her own bed,_ thought Sherlock with an inward smirk.

He was very pleased to see Rosie, and John even commented on how much his skills had improved when it came to dealing with an infant. He even invited Sherlock to change a dirty nappy, which Sherlock declined. He supposed once his new baby was born, he would have to occasionally change nappies, but he was not going to change the nappy of another person's baby, even if that baby was his goddaughter. Thank goodness Victoria had been using the toilet by the time he spent those days looking after her during his recuperation period after being shot.

Withdrawal continued to hit Sherlock at times and John looked at him in concern on a couple occasions when he groaned.

Just before Mrs. Hudson came to relieve John at ten in the morning, his friend remarked. "Glad you had a chance to clean yourself up and shave. Are you trying to impress Molly now?" Then he laughed at his own joke and Sherlock knew John was still convinced he harboured a thing for Irene Adler. His friend was such a fool sometimes, but at least it had kept him from seeing any signs of the relationship Sherlock really had with Molly. _Well_ , Sherlock thought, _the relationship I did have with Molly_. Despite their shared kiss the previous day, Molly had not mentioned anything about wanting to resume their own relationship. She had just said she wanted him to be a part of their children's lives and that she would be there for him. Whether that entailed anything more than friendship he wasn't certain. He wasn't certain of anything anymore.

Sherlock spent most of the day idly flipping through channels on the telly. John had told him he was not allowed to even look at his laptop for cases until he was fully recovered. Mrs. Hudson amused herself by tidying his kitchen, making comments under her breath about the disgraceful state of the table and sink. When she wasn't cleaning, she was watching the telly with Sherlock or reading a novel she had brought upstairs that he didn't bother looking at too closely. Probably some trashy romance novel. She seemed the type.

Sherlock checked his watch constantly, feeling time was dragging, but finally he heard the sound of two sets of footsteps on the stairs. He had given Molly his key so she could come on up without having to ring the doorbell.

He opened the flat door to Molly and his daughter.

"Ah, Molly, you're here," Mrs. Hudson said then stooped down to talk with Victoria. "Hello lovey. Nanny has missed you."

Victoria reached to put her arms around the landlady's neck. "Missed you too, Nanny."

Sherlock felt a little guilty. He knew he was the reason Molly had stopped using her services as a babysitter lately. He cleared his throat, noticing there was no KFC in sight. "No dinner then?" he enquired, then suddenly realised Molly should not be having to pay for his food. She was the one doing him the favour. "God, I'm an idiot. I'll get you some money," he offered, pulling out his wallet.

Molly shook her head. "I don't need your money, Sherlock. I just thought I'd drop Victoria off and walk down to KFC myself. That is, if it's okay?"

Victoria released her hold on Mrs. Hudson and turned to him. "Daddy come."

"No, Victoria, you stay with Daddy and I'll be right back," Molly told her daughter Firmly, glancing at Sherlock. He knew she was trying to make things easy on him, so that he wouldn't have to worry about going out in public with his daughter and possibly have her call him Daddy.

"Come on, sweet pea, you can help me get some plates from the cupboard and some cutlery," he suggested, holding out his hand.

"I'll be back at ten," said Mrs. Hudson, and she headed out of the flat with Molly as Sherlock took Victoria to the kitchen.

He lifted Victoria to the cupboard with dinner plates and had her "help" get some down, keeping a firm grip on them at the same time. Then he poured Victoria a glass of milk that Mrs. Hudson had purchased on his instructions earlier that day along with some other much needed food item staples like bread, eggs, and of course, bacon. At least now he had the ingredients to eat a good breakfast, if nothing else. He prepared cups of tea as well and took them over to the kitchen table. Fortunately, had cleared enough room for them to sit at the table to eat. He made a mental note to thank her later.

When Molly returned with a bucket of chicken and fries, the three of them ate together. Sherlock watched in amusement as Victoria peeled off the chicken batter, proclaiming, "Yucky!" He was only too glad to take it from her as Molly then helped Victoria to pull the chicken off the bone. It felt quite domestic and Sherlock had to admit, he really enjoyed the whole experience.

In fact, being with Molly and Victoria was a wonderful distraction from those occasional feelings of withdrawal which hit him.

Molly had brought along picture books and things for Victoria to do, like more puzzles.

At one point, while they both watched their daughter assembling a 70 piece puzzle very efficiently, Sherlock turned to Molly and took her hand.

Molly looked at him in surprise as he said, "Thanks for being here, for bringing Victoria. It's really helping."

She smiled at him and his heart lurched. He did so love her smile. "Of course, Sherlock. I'll do anything to make sure you stay away from addiction in the future."

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it, feeling the slight tremble of her hand. Victoria was still absorbed in her puzzle so Sherlock decided to lean in closer to Molly. He was only inches away from kissing her when she pulled back slightly. "Please don't, Sherlock." At that moment his heart plummeted downwards. So, apparently that was the way things were going to be. She wanted to help him with his recovery, but keep her distance.

He felt ice forming in his veins, encasing his heart once again, protecting him. He would not try it again. He was sure Molly was doing the same thing and he couldn't blame her. There was something else he needed to do anyway. He had to tell her about Mary's DVD. Selfishly, even though he knew it might tarnish Mary's memory, he needed her to know that his actions in returning to drugs had not been entirely as a result of the guilt he had felt over Mary's death.

"Molly," he said, and she looked at him apprehensively, presumably wondering if he was going to ask why she didn't want to kiss him. Hastily he continued, "There's something I need to show you. Do you think you can take Victoria downstairs for a few minutes so we can have some privacy?"

She gave him a suspicious look and he understood why. He let out a sigh of frustration. If things were different, he might well have wanted Victoria to be out of the way for a very different reason. He forced his thoughts away from how wonderful it would be to have Molly naked and in his arms once again. "I'm not attempting a seduction, Molly. I need to show you a DVD that will help to explain why I went off the rails in the way I did."

"Oh. Okay then," she responded, flushing slightly as if embarrassed to have thought he might be attempting something with her. "Victoria, let's go down to Nanny for a few minutes. Daddy and I need to have a talk. You can finish your puzzle when you get back." She picked up a picture book. "Nanny can help you with your shapes again, okay?"

"Okay, Mummy," said Victoria agreeably. She stood and Molly took her hand, still holding the picture book in the other.

While Molly was gone, Sherlock found the DVD and inserted it in his laptop then pulled over an extra chair to his desk.

"Come and sit here," he invited when Molly reappeared a couple minutes later.

She looked at him, then the laptop and sat where he indicated. "Okay."

"Please, Molly, don't say anything until you've watched the whole thing," he urged and Molly nodded.

And then he set the disc to play.

He observed Molly as she watched quietly, seeing the emotions cross her face as Mary begged him to save John and instructed him on how to do it. By the end of it tears were streaming down Molly's face.

"How could she ask such a thing of you?" she asked with lips that trembled and then, "and how could you go along with it?" She cast him an accusing glance.

"I...I had promised to protect John and Mary. I made a vow, remember? When that failed I felt obligated to do whatever I could to honour her memory," he explained rather desperately.

Molly swiped at her tears with balled up fists. "This explains so much." Then her expression changed to one of hurt. "But you were ready to risk your life at the expense of your own. You talk about Rosie losing her mother. How do you think it would have been for our daughter to lose her _father_?" Her hands remained clenched as she placed them on the desk.

He reached his hand out to curl over one of her fists. "I know, Molly. What can I say? I'm a complete idiot, a bastard, a moron, or any other derogatory name you can think of to call me. I can't justify my actions, and I wasn't thinking straight. But trust me, nothing like this will ever happen again. Please believe me." He spoke earnestly, trying to convey his sincerity through his expression.

Finally Molly's hand unclenched beneath his. "I want to trust you, Sherlock, but you're going to have to earn my trust back. You've broken so many promises. I will always forgive you, but I just can't blindly accept what you tell me, not anymore." Her voice was filled with sorrow as she added, "Right now I have to find a way to forgive Mary for her part in this too."

"Doesn't your Bible go on and on about forgiving people?" he questioned.

Molly pulled her hand away from beneath his and looked at him crossly. "Why does everyone think that being a Christian means being a paragon of virtue? Just because I'm a Christian doesn't mean I don't struggle with things too. I'm only human, Sherlock. I know I'll forgive Mary eventually but I need to have time to get over the anger I feel about what she did."

"Yes, yes, of course," said Sherlock hastily. "Take all the time you need, and I promise I'll do my best to earn your trust back as well."

Molly gave a short nod. "Thank you. I'd better go get Victoria now or Mrs. Hudson will suspect we are getting up to something other than talking."

Sherlock gave a humourless laugh. "Nothing could be further from the truth, could it?" he remarked and Molly pursed her lips.

She headed downstairs and they spent the rest of the evening until Mrs. Hudson came up to relieve Molly, talking occasionally of ordinary things and watching their daughter.

A deep depression settled over Sherlock once Molly and Victoria had departed. Sherlock knew that drug addiction could also cause depression during withdrawal, but he couldn't help feeling suddenly bereft.

For the rest of the week, as Sherlock continued to detox and the withdrawal finally subsided, he was unable to stop the depression that continued to torment him. Instead of looking forward to the evenings when Molly was to come with Victoria, he dreaded them and they spent the evenings being civil to one another, but loving towards Victoria who fortunately was to young to understand the tension between her parents.

At the end of the week, John proclaimed that he trusted Sherlock to remain drug-free and he no longer needed anyone to watch him. John told Sherlock he could return to casework and Sherlock did so, with great relief. Working helped distract him from thoughts of Molly and this strange coldness that had settled between them; he hadn't dared to touch her or talk about the baby since the night she had rebuffed him.

It was a few days later when Sherlock's world turned topsy-turvy again. He had just sent off a couple of strange clients with a nonsensical talk about channeling Satan, when he found something on the floor that must have fallen some time earlier. His eyes widened when he saw it was a note.

It was Faith's note. He hadn't hallucinated the episode after all, which was rather validating, but someone had obviously impersonated her. The question was - why?

And Sherlock's mental wheels began to turn with this new mystery that drove every thought of Molly and the unresolved tension between them out of his head.

* * *

 **Author's note:** First, thanks to comp1mom for her comment in her review on the last chapter which led to me adding a whole scene of Sherlock showing Molly the DVD from Mary. This is what I'm talking about when I tell my readers I love to hear from them, to get their ideas. I love it when I can be prompted to add something into my story that will enhance it.

What did you think about Molly's talk about Sherlock needing to earn her trust back? Even though the Bible does tell us to always forgive, I believe that sometimes we need to be wary of those who hurt us over and over. There is a difference between forgiving someone and trusting them. Agree? Disagree?

So, what is your theory on why Molly has suddenly pulled back from Sherlock? It's always great to hear those guesses so come on, type your thoughts in that review box and join the conversation. You will find out in the next chapter.


	40. Confronting Painful Truths

**Author's note:** If you are wondering why things suddenly went back to a strange impasse between Molly after things looked so hopeful the last time Molly's POV was shown, this is where you will see what's going on as we pick up from the morning after she and Victoria stay with Sherlock at Baker Street.

* * *

Molly woke suddenly in the darkness. Victoria had made a little sound and had shifted position slightly. It was strange. She felt cocooned by both her daughter and Sherlock, he behind her, encircling her with his arm even as she had Victoria tucked close as well.

By the pre-dawn light filtering through the window, Molly realised she should probably get up and make sure Mrs. Hudson was there when John arrived otherwise there might be awkward questions.

She reached up to stroke Victoria's forehead. "It's time to get up, sweetheart, but we must be very quiet and let Daddy sleep. We need to go home."

Victoria made a sleepy little murmur and shifted again then opened her eyes. "Wanna stay with Daddy," she stated, and Molly put a finger to her daughter's lips.

"Shh. Daddy has to stay here and sleep, but we have to go home. We will come back tonight to see him, okay?"

Victoria pursed her lips in thought then finally proclaimed, "Okay."

Molly carefully removed Sherlock's hand from where it lay against her belly. He made a sound but did not wake, thankfully, then she lifted up the duvet and helped Victoria get off the bed, followed by herself. She carefully placed the duvet back on the bed so Sherlock was covered, but she ached at the sight of his bare chest and the bruises she could still dimly see in the early morning light.

Quietly, Molly helped Victoria dress and then got dressed as well. It was only five-thirty when she took Victoria back in the bedroom so they could say goodbye. She didn't want him to think she had just left him.

Back home, Molly decided she would go to church after all. Her heart felt heavy and she knew she needed some spiritual guidance.

That turned out to be a good thing, because her dearest friend from church, Kayla, was there and they sat together. Kayla, who was always intuitive where her friend was concerned asked before the service started, "Are you okay, Molly? You seem kind of low."

Molly sighed. She suddenly felt she needed to talk to a Christian friend, to confess all that had been going on and ask for advice from someone who shared her beliefs.

She looked at Victoria who was happily colouring a picture of Jesus with a sheep around his shoulders, then turned her head to Kayla. "Do you have time to come over to my place after church? I really need to talk to someone."

"Of course," responded Kayla. "I have no plans. I never have any plans." She gave a little self-deprecating laugh.

Kayla was a year older than Molly and single as well. To Molly's knowledge, she hadn't had a boyfriend in years, and Molly could not understand why such a lovely woman had not found anyone to share her life with. Of course, Molly reflected, she hadn't either, not really. That was what she wanted to talk about with Kayla.

After church, Kayla went beck to Molly's flat with her and Victoria. Molly prepared sandwiches for lunch.

After lunch, Victoria was rubbing her eyes and complained she was tired. It had been a very early morning, after all, and Victoria had not returned to sleep after leaving Baker Street. Molly was only too glad to put her down for a nap. It would give her and Kayla the opportunity to talk undisturbed.

After Molly settled Victoria into her bed, she joined Kayla on the sofa.

Kayla looked at her. "Tell me what's going on, Molly. If there's anything I can do to help, I will." Then she regarded Molly seriously. "I don't want to pry, but I've noticed you've been uh, getting a bit bigger of late. Are you by chance pregnant?" There was no censure in her friend's tone, merely gentle curiosity.

Molly knew Kayla would not judge her for her life decisions but she blushed and twisted her fingers together. Sudden tears filled her eyes. "Yes I am, and I feel just awful."

Kayla furrowed her brow. "Do you want to talk about it, to tell me how it happened?"

Molly nodded miserably. "That's why I asked you to come over. I need advice from a friend who won't look down on me for being such an idiot."

Kayla rested a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Nobody's perfect, Molly. My job isn't to judge, but to support you."

A tear slid from Molly's eyelashes and down her cheek. She was so lucky to have a friend who cared about her that way. "It's a very long story," she told her friend. "I suppose you know who Sherlock Holmes is?" She was pretty sure everyone knew by now, but she had to make sure.

"Of course. He's a wonderful detective, and I saw on the news yesterday that he just exposed a serial killer. I must admit, I'm quite a fan of the blog his friend John Watson writes. John has such a clever way with words."

Molly stared at Kayla in surprise. There was a soft expression in her friend's eyes when she spoke about John. Did she have a little crush on the recently bereaved man? Oh well, this was not the time to be thinking about that, she needed to speak about her own situation.

Molly bit her lip. "Well, the thing is-" she began hesitantly, "and please, this must remain between us..." Her eyes pleaded with Kayla, who nodded so she continued. "Well, um, Sherlock is Victoria's father." She slid a hand over her abdomen, pushing down the material of her jumper, "And he's the father of this baby as well."

Kayla's brows lifted in astonishment. "There's never been anything in John Watson's blogs about Sherlock being involved with a woman. If you are involved with him, what's with all the secrecy?"

And then Molly confided everything to Kayla, how she had met Sherlock first at uni, how they had met years later and how she had helped him fake his death, at which point Kayla interrupted her for the first time.

"Oh my gosh!" she exclaimed. "You helped Sherlock Holmes fake his death? Wow, that's amazing!"

Molly's lips quirked slightly. "Well, it wasn't so fantastic to have to deal with, and of course you must not tell anyone about it. It is still not common knowledge because um, it wasn't exactly legal, how we had to do things, but it was a matter of life or death."

"I completely understand," Kayla assured her. "I won't tell anyone. So how did the two of you become involved? Obviously it was before he left London for those two years, judging by Victoria's age."

Molly nodded. She continued to tell her friend how she and Sherlock had made plans for a future, and how she had fallen pregnant by accident just before he left. She went on to talk about how she had become engaged to Tom and how Sherlock had returned soon afterwards, and then how she had eventually realised she still loved Sherlock and had broken off her engagement.

"I did wonder about that," remarked Kayla. "I knew you were engaged, but I never saw Tom at church and you were engaged for a long time."

Molly continued to explain how she and Sherlock had got back together after she broke off her engagement, how they had again made plans for a future, and how Sherlock's continued insistence on secrecy kept derailing things. She didn't disclose everything of course, especially not the Magnussen incident, but enough that Kayla was aware that their relationship had been a committed one. Finally she explained the latest events, with Sherlock's descent into drug addiction (which was public knowledge anyway), and how he had succeeded in exposing Culverton Smith just a couple days earlier.

"But here's the thing, Kayla," she said at last. "I feel like Sherlock wants to make things work again between us, but he has let me down so many times and quite frankly, I feel like I've made so many mistakes. I feel so far from God right now, I know I haven't been doing the right thing, you know, getting pregnant and all."

Kayla gave her a sympathetic smile. "As I said before, nobody's perfect. Being a Christian doesn't mean we don't succumb to temptation. Clearly you love Sherlock with all your heart. It sounds like he loves you too, but is just unsure on how to express it. I'm still a virgin, so I can't really advise you on matters concerned with intimacy. What do you think God is telling you?"

Molly sighed, feeling her eyes swim with tears. "I think I've spent so much time doing my own thing and not asking for God's guidance that it's hard to listen for that still, small voice. I love Sherlock so much, but I've always known he might not ever want to be married. Even so, I've allowed myself to think that I could be happy just living with him. He did hint that he'd like that, once all this perceived danger is over."

Kayla frowned slightly. "Doesn't he know what you believe? If he's such an idiot that he can't commit to a life with you that includes marriage, and I hope you will forgive me if this offends you, well, then I think he doesn't deserve you." She folded her arms.

Tears began to trickle down Molly's cheeks and she didn't bother wiping them away. "I know you're right. I'm just so confused."

Kayla reached over and gave her a comforting hug. "Maybe the best thing to do is wait upon the Lord. God's timing is not our own, you know. Things might seem dark right now but I have to believe that God has a plan. You just have to wait for that plan to unfold."

"Thanks, Kayla," Molly responded, reaching for a tissue and blowing her nose, then wiping her damp cheeks. "I think I'll just have to keep my distance for now. If I allow myself to get close again to Sherlock I'll just make the same mistakes. I...I think we should just go back to being friends for now."

"That sounds like a good idea to me. Trust in God, Molly. He holds you in the palm of His hand." Kyla squeezed Molly's hand. "Remember, when there is distance between us and God, it isn't Him who creates it, we are the ones walking away."

Molly gave her friend a tremulous smile. Kayla had such wisdom and she wished she had spoken to her earlier.

Kayla left soon afterwards and Molly felt a peace settle over her that had not been there for some time. It would be hard, but she knew she had to do the right thing. If God did want her and Sherlock to be together, He would have to make the path straight. "Forgive me, Father," she prayed, and she knew she was forgiven, and she felt a great weight being lifted. She didn't know what the future held. Maybe it meant she would not end up with the man she loved, but she put her trust in God.

With renewed resolve, that evening, when Molly spent time with Sherlock and Victoria, she kept things on a friendly basis. When he leaned in to kiss her, she gently rebuffed him. She saw the hurt in his eyes, but she knew she had to be strong.

When he had then gone on to show her the DVD from Mary, it had been another blow. Sherlock had been so determined to follow Mary's wishes that he had forgotten about his responsibilities to his own family. She understood he had been in a dark place, but it highlighted to her that they had trust issues that would need to be resolved. He'd broken promises to her on several occasions, made choices that undermined his so-called long-term plans. This was not the time to complicate things by returning to a romantic relationship. It would be too easy to slip back into the way things had been and she knew Kayla had been right. She deserved better than a live-in lover. He knew what she believed even if he didn't really understand it. She'd made enough compromises to her values and that wasn't going to happen again.

And then there was the issue with what Mary had done. She was deeply hurt that her friend could have asked such a thing of Sherlock, especially knowing he had his own family to think about, not just himself. She felt it had been an incredibly selfish thing for Mary to ask, and that meant Molly was going to have to spend some time in getting past it, finding forgiveness in her heart for the woman who had died and left her own child behind.

Nevertheless, it still came down to Sherlock making the choice to follow Mary's posthumous instructions. He could have ignored it, looked for a different way to reconcile with John, but he had chosen to go back on the drugs, and it frightened Molly that he could go to such extremes. Sherlock needed to prove himself, that he could stay clean and that he could commit fully to her. She would always want him in her life, and to be a father to Victoria and their unborn child, but she could no longer pretend to herself that it would be enough if they just lived together as a family. She wanted the blessing of God on their relationship and she would always feel guilty if that did not involve a legal commitment. Her children deserved to grow up in an environment where both parents loved one another and bore the outward sign of their commitment. Otherwise, they would live with her, or, if Sherlock so chose later, much as it would hurt to be separated from them, she would share custody.

With those thoughts uppermost in her mind, Molly kept her distance on the two other occasions she was acting as Sherlock's minder. She was sure he didn't really need her anymore to stay clean, but he still seemed to enjoy spending time with his daughter. He had not attempted to kiss her again or to address their situation in any way. She was both relieved and sad, but resigned herself to the fact that this might be the way things would continue from now on. Whatever happened, they had a shared love for Victoria, and Molly knew Sherlock would love the new baby as well. She had begun to feel movement regularly in her abdomen, even on a couple of occasions when Sherlock was saying something to Victoria. She was tempted to invite him to feel her belly, but worried that if he did so, he might think she was inviting something more between them. Even worse, she was worried that she would weaken in her own resolve, so she kept the information to herself.

It wasn't easy though. Her heart ached to be with him again, to resume that intimacy she craved, and every now and then she caught a hungry look in his eyes that indicated he still wanted her as well. _Give me strength, God,_ she would pray in moments of weakness, and felt strengthened.

After the week was over and John proclaimed that Sherlock was clean and no longer in danger of relapse, Molly resumed life without constant visitation. She missed Sherlock, but she did not plan to seek him out. If he wanted to talk with her, he knew where to find her. She was still leaving Victoria with the child minder rather than Mrs. Hudson, although she was prepared to take Victoria over to Baker Street. It seemed though that Sherlock had adopted an "out of sight, out of mind" attitude.

On the Sunday, two weeks after her talk with Kayla, Molly decided she would go to Baker Street, just to "remind" Sherlock he had a daughter and to make sure he didn't neglect her. It had been over a week since he had seen their daughter.

After church, Molly went home to eat before making the trip to Baker Street. She was just in the middle of preparing lunch for Victoria and herself when she heard the words of a breaking news broadcast on the television, which she had turned on in the background.

There was a report about an explosion on Baker Street. Molly's heart lurched and she rushed to the television to watch the broadcast. What she saw was devastating.

Video footage of blown out windows above Speedy's Café confirmed her worst fears. It was Sherlock's flat that had been destroyed.

Molly was filled with horror as, forgetting lunch, she immediately took Victoria and headed for Baker Street, hoping that the damage wasn't as bad as she feared, praying that Sherlock was alive. The news report had not mentioned any casualties, so that was a good thing.

She arrived at Baker Street and saw the gaping windows, the glass remnants still on the ground in front. "What happened, Mummy?" asked Victoria, noting her mother's fearful expression.

"I don't know, sweet pea, we're going to see if anyone answers the doorbell."

 _Please God, let Sherlock be okay,_ she prayed silently, ringing the doorbell several times.

The door opened and Mrs. Hudson stood there, looking a little flustered but still herself, for the most part.

"Mrs. Hudson," Molly said urgently, "Where's Sherlock? Please tell me he's okay." Her eyes filled with tears as she spoke.

"Come in, dear. Sherlock is fine. Hasn't he contacted you to let you know he is okay?" Molly shook her head numbly and the landlady pursed her lips. "That ridiculous man. Always going off somewhere half-cocked and forgetting everything else," she said tartly, then her voice softened. "Let me tell you what happened," she said, ushering Molly and Victoria into her flat.

"Where's Daddy?" asked Victoria plaintively, sensing her mother's distress, her own blue-green eyes beginning to fill with tears.

"Your daddy's not here right now, lovey, but he's fine," assured her.

Molly held Victoria in her lap as Mrs. Hudson explained what had happened.

"Earlier today, Mycroft and John were here with Sherlock. I don't know what they were talking about. I had just finished vacuuming and had put the vacuum cleaner away when a huge explosion rocked my flat. Next moment, Mycroft came rushing into my flat - unannounced, I might add, asking if I was okay. He told me a grenade had gone off in the flat. No idea what that was all about either. What on earth were those boys up to? Anyway, apparently Sherlock and John had been forced to jump out the front windows."

Molly made an exclamation of horror as Mrs. Hudson continued. "I tell you, Sherlock and John must have been born under lucky stars. There just happened to be rubbish skips in the street, full of items due to some renovations going on at Speedy's Café, with bags of rubbish on the top, ready to be taken away. Mycroft and I went outside, and there those boys were, climbing out of those skips as if they had nothing better to do."

Molly's mouth opened in astonishment. "So, they were unharmed?"

"Far as I could tell, yes." Mrs. Hudson responded.

Molly breathed a sigh of relief and sent up a silent prayer of thankfulness. The baby inside her chose that time to move, echoing her sentiment.

"Why aren't they here now, or Sherlock at least?" she questioned as a crease formed between her brows.

"I don't really know. I heard Sherlock say, 'We need to go now and make plans. The east wind is coming, and I'm not waiting any longer.'"

Molly suddenly felt angry and frustrated. So Sherlock had not even bothered to text her? Couldn't he have spent a few moments letting her and Victoria know he was okay? Surely he had to realise the explosion would make the news?

"So, he's gone then, and no word on where he went?" she asked tersely, unconsciously pulling Victoria tighter on her lap until her daughter protested and she loosened her grip. "Sorry, sweetheart." She kissed the top of Victoria's head.

"I'm sorry, dear. Mycroft had called for his car and the three men left almost immediately. I haven't seen them since."

Molly sighed disconsolately. "Thank you Mrs. Hudson. I guess I know how important Victoria and I are to Sherlock now."

"Oh, my dear. You know how single-minded Sherlock can get when he is on a case. He probably went off to find who planted the grenade or whatever," responded Mrs. Hudson consolingly, patting her arm.

"I know I'm always going to come a distant second, Mrs. Hudson. That's why we aren't together, will never be together." She blinked back tears of frustration.

She had forgotten that Victoria was with her, and the toddler suddenly twisted around to look at her and asked, "Don't you love Daddy, Mummy?"

Molly raised a hand to her daughter's cheek, brushing away a tear that had slipped down it. "Of course I do, darling. I'll always love your father. But he...he just has different priorities. He does love you though. So don't worry about that."

"Daddy does love you, Mummy. I can tell," proclaimed Victoria positively, and Molly suddenly realised how clever her daughter was at speaking such a large volume of words in one go.

She looked at her sweet little girl and held her close. "From your lips to God's ears."

They left Baker Street after eating lunch at Mrs. Hudson's insistence, seeing as Molly had not finished preparing lunch before they had rushed out of her flat.

Conflicting emotions filled Molly for the rest of the day. One minute she was frightened for Sherlock, wondering whether this new case was the Moriarty one he had been waiting for, and whether his life would be put in danger as a result. The next minute she would be plagued by hurt and bitterness over the fact that Sherlock had not contacted her at all. Her phone remained silent.

By the time she settled into bed, reaching over as she usually did, to touch the photo of Sherlock and herself, Molly prayed quietly, "Whatever he is doing, God, please keep him safe."

The next six days passed with still no word from Sherlock and Molly's bitterness returned. He had had plenty of time to contact her, and Molly could not justify his continuing silence. So much for him earning her trust back. Two more trips to Baker Street had yielded nothing further. The flat remained unoccupied and the only concession to its need for repair were large sheets of plastic that had been taped over the gaping holes that had once been windows. Mrs. Hudson told Molly she would wait a week before hiring contractors to begin repairs. She wanted to give Sherlock a chance to salvage whatever he could from the debris first, which Molly thought was exceedingly generous of the elderly woman. She herself would have just thrown everything out.

Molly also went over to John's flat to find it too was dark and silent. Rosie was not there, so presumably John had made arrangements for his daughter to be taken care of while he was absent on whatever scheme Sherlock had involved him in.

Finally, Saturday arrived, and when Molly opened her eyes to greet yet another dreary day without Sherlock, she had no idea it was the day that would change everything forever.

* * *

 **Author's note:** As you can see, this chapter really delves into Molly's crisis of faith and the decisions that come out of it as a result. Remember, I have alluded to Molly's faith on many occasions in this story, so at last we are seeing the repercussions of her choices. I hope this chapter resonates with readers in a way that shows them God is greater than all our failings. It is never too late to turn back to God. This chapter did not exist in my original version, so it is another way I have developed my writing over the past year that I hope has added more thought and interest to the story.

If you are a regular reader of my other works, you will be aware that Kayla is an OC I created in my original Journey story who is Molly's closest church friend, so she does appear in various stories of mine.

As always, I am anxious to hear from my readers. What is your perception of this chapter? I would personally consider it a pivotal one as far as Molly's POV is concerned.


	41. Facing His Fears

**Author's note:** And...back to where we left off with Sherlock, but this is the big one - the phone call at last! Buckle your seatbelts for the final trajectory towards landing. You may experience some turbulence.

* * *

Sherlock examined the note carefully. He felt an inexpressible relief in knowing the woman had been real after all and not a hallucination dreamed up by his drug-altered mind; but who had she been and why had she impersonated the real Faith Smith?

Seeking answers, he began to examine the note carefully.

It was when he checked it under ultraviolet light that he saw it, the big clue he had been missing, the one that proclaimed here, at last, was the case he had been waiting for. There were the words, _MISS ME?_

Sherlock's stomach lurched. The woman had a connection to Moriarty and it was up to him to find out what it was. Here was the case he had begun to think did not exist, the climax of Moriarty's deadly chess game.

A frantic text from John later that day alerted Sherlock to something new and the layout of the chess game became clear in his mind as the powerful queen was brought into play. Sherlock had a sister he didn't remember. John's new therapist, the one whom Sherlock had met himself briefly on the day of the Culverton Smith confrontation, had revealed several things to the doctor before shooting him with a tranquiliser gun. The therapist, also Sherlock's mysterious Faith Smith impersonator and John's woman from the bus, whom he had been texting, were all the same person. Her name was Eurus and it appeared she had a score to settle.

Armed with this information, Sherlock enlisted John's help in an elaborate trick at Mycroft's home, designed to elicit the truth from his brother. John was convinced he would have the answers after the older Holmes brother had been careless with his words in a conversation that had occurred during the time Sherlock was falling into his drug dependency. John had suspected a secret brother. Well, he'd been close, at least.

One successful experiment later, and Mycroft was forced into a corner. He had to reveal all.

At Baker Street, Sherlock listened as his brother explained about the sister he didn't remember. She was brilliant, in fact, "an era defining genius beyond Newton," according to Mycroft. She showed psychotic tendencies at an early age and this led to her locking up Sherlock's dog, Redbeard. She sang a little song that was supposed to be a clue to his whereabouts, but it made no sense. Redbeard was never found. According to Mycroft, after that incident, Sherlock changed. Later he forgot Eurus existed after she set fire to the Holmes ancestral home, Musgrave Hall and was subsequently taken away.

Mycroft admitted Eurus had been institutionalised at a place called Sherrinford, a secret island prison installation. He asserted that Eurus had been there since early childhood, and whomever John and Sherlock had met could not be her.

That was when the drone flew in the open kitchen window bearing a TX707 patience grenade, playing that childhood song of Eurus's, but not in a child's voice, in her adult one. Sherlock suddenly recalled the way he had been reminded of the song when Molly had been singing to Victoria in the bath. He also recalled he had not even spoken to Molly in days. First it had been because he was trying to get back into the swing of doing cases, and then the reveal about Faith Smith had completely consumed his time. Sherlock felt horribly guilty that he had neglected the woman he would always love and their daughter, but he still felt that perhaps Molly had decided she could no longer deal with him in terms of a romantic relationship. Her demeanour towards him on the last few occasions had been that of no more than a friend.

While Sherlock was asking if John had time to call his daughter, he was thinking of his own innocent daughter and the fact that he might potentially never see her again either, or her mother. He might not even get the opportunity to see his new baby make its appearance in the world. _Please God,_ he prayed silently, for the first time calling on the unseen power he now believed in, _save us._

And God answered his prayer in the affirmative.

The three men barely escaped with their lives when the grenade went off. As the force of the grenade blew out the windows of Sherlock's flat, he and John fell into skips filled with discarded furniture from Speedy's that had been topped by bags of rubbish. Sherlock knew without a doubt that it was not mere coincidence that had led to the placement of those skips that had protected John and himself from serious, potential fatal injury. He uttered a word of thanks to God as he climbed out of the debris, assisting John to alight from the other skip. It really was a miracle neither had suffered injury. Mycroft too had escaped the blast without a scratch and came outside to them. He had made sure Mrs. Hudson was unharmed and then called immediately for his car to be brought around.

Sherlock demanded they must visit Sherrinford as soon as possible to discover the truth about his sister.

Mycroft told him they would need to make intricate plans to get into the institution unannounced in order to discover what was going on. If the facility's security had been compromised, they needed to find out how and why. That would take a few days. Not only the plans had to be made, but disguises had to be procured as well as alternate passage to the island prison.

In the meantime, the older Holmes made sure that a false report was circulated in certain circles that he was in hospital with serious injuries after the blast at Baker Street. With Mycroft's insistence for complete secrecy, Sherlock felt he must respect his brother's wishes and restrained himself from contacting Molly. However, he resolved to do so at his earliest opportunity once they returned from Sherrinford.

The men were able to employ undercover measures to get into the island prison as planned, and everything went off without a hitch. Their ruse successful, Sherlock was able to get the prison governor's own access pass to the area where Eurus was housed.

Finally, after more than thirty years, Sherlock was able to meet his sister properly. She was kept in a maximum security area, but seemed harmless enough - at first. She offered her violin for him to play, saying she had taught him to play it. Sherlock struggled to remember, but couldn't. When she asked him to play and he attempted the first notes of a Bach piece, she mocked him and said, "Play you."

So Sherlock did. He played a few notes of the piece he had composed several years earlier, after that horrible Christmas party where he had made fun of Molly. John probably thought it was because he was mourning the death, as he supposed, of Irene Adler, but John was wrong. Sherlock was pouring out the pain he could not express in words, for the hurt he had inflicted on his friend, Molly.

Eurus had almost immediately asked him if he had had sex, before he had played more than two notes. He had hedged with a "Why do you ask?" He was not about to tell her about Molly. He didn't even know this strange woman. Besides, it was none of her business.

Then he discovered that Eurus wasn't contained behind the glass as he thought she was. She attacked him and he soon found himself in a cell of some sort, along with Mycroft, the prison governor, and an unconscious John, who had been knocked out by the guards. Eurus was in control of the whole installation and she had plans for him.

These plans included trying to force him to choose either John or Mycroft to kill the governor in order to save his wife's life whom Eurus had had kidnapped. After Mycroft flatly refused, Sherlock handed the gun to John. In the end, John was unable to murder the governor, who subsequently shot himself to save his wife. Unfortunately, as the "conditions" had not been met, Eurus killed the wife herself.

Test number one was complete. Sherlock was shocked at his sister's ruthless behaviour and lack of compassion.

For the second test, the death toll rose to five after Sherlock was to deduce who of three brothers had killed a man named Evans, thus condemning the culprit. Their room had a viewing window and the three men appeared outside it on ropes hung from above, bound and gagged.

When Sherlock condemned the correct man for the deed, however, knowing he was sentencing him to death, Eurus pressed s button that released the ropes and dropped the innocent men into the ocean. Following a protest from John, she did the same for the guilty party. Sherlock tried to lift the spirits of John after the death of the three men, telling him to behave as if they were soldiers.

Test number two was complete and Sherlock began to see a pattern. Eurus was trying to determine Sherlock's reactions about certain types of sentiment. She was trying to understand it for herself.

Throughout this time, as incentive, Eurus was connecting the men to audio of a little girl on a plane. Everyone around her was asleep, she informed them, and Sherlock was desperately trying to think of how to save her, even as he endured these "experiments" set up by Eurus.

The door to the next room opened and the men walked into it to discover an open, empty coffin. Eurus wanted Sherlock to determine for whom the coffin was intended. He attempted to analyse the coffin, but it was only when Mycroft told him to look at the name on the lid of the coffin which was against the wall, that Sherlock knew for whom it was intended and his throat almost closed in horror. The plaque said " _I love you"._ Mycroft assumed it was for someone who loved Sherlock, but the detective knew better. It was for someone whom _he_ loved.

The first test had been about determining his actions when presented with a situation where he had to force someone he cared about to kill someone else. The second test was to determine his love of justice and desire to see the right person pay for a crime. But the third one, it was personal, designed to test his own heart and the love he bore for another person whom he loved, not as a friend, but in a romantic way, a person whom he loved with his whole heart.

Even as John surmised the coffin was intended for Irene Adler, Sherlock scoffed and pointed out the practicality of the coffin, even as his heart beat painfully with the truth. John said "Molly," even as Sherlock swallowed hard and uttered the name of the woman he loved, "Molly Hooper."

He was filled with dread when Eurus informed him that there were bombs rigged to explode in approximately three minutes in her flat if he couldn't get her to say the release code. Of course, that code was " _I love you"._

He should have known, he supposed. Eurus seemed to know everything about him. Apparently she somehow knew about Molly after all. How could she have known though that those three little words had never passed between them? Could he have revealed something to her when he had been high and she had been posing as Faith Smith?

He had the feeling that was a distinct possibility. His memory of that night was very fractured due to his dangerous overindulgence with drugs. He had even blacked out and found himself back at Baker Street the next morning with no memory of how he had got there. Yes, that had to be it. She knew because he had bloody well told her something indiscreet and he felt like kicking himself. This was all his fault.

As Eurus placed the call, Sherlock tried desperately to think of how he could get Molly to say the words. At one time he would have felt sure it wouldn't be difficult, but the recent change in her attitude towards him made him feel unsure. He didn't know if she even still wanted to be with him, let alone loved him. It would serve him right if that were the case.

 _Fine,_ he decided, _I'll be all casual about it. Make it seem like it's not a big deal. It's just three little words, nothing major._

He watched video screens of Molly's kitchen and wondered when someone had placed the hidden cameras in her flat. Victoria was nowhere in sight. Was she even there?

When Molly ignored the first call, he started to feel real fear for the first time - fear for her, and for their unborn baby. And where was Victoria? If his daughter was in the flat, her life too was at stake. If he was not successful, he would be responsible for two, maybe three more deaths. If anything happened to them life would not be worth living. He uttered a brief pray to God, this time not for himself, but for them. _Please God, save them._

When Molly did pick up the second time Eurus placed the call, Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief. Almost a minute had already been wasted. She said she wasn't having a good day. At least she was acting civil towards him which was more than he deserved, considering they hadn't spoken in some time.

He carefully told her, "Molly, I just want you to do something very easy for me -and not ask why." He tried to keep the fear out of his voice. _Maintain control,_ he told himself silently.

"Oh, God, is this one of your stupid games?" Yep, he should have expected that, especially after she had yelled at him that it wasn't a game, when he was high that day she examined him in the ambulance.

"No, it's not a game. I - need you to help me." He kept his tone even. She had never refused to help him when he needed it.

Unfortunately, this time Molly was dismissive. For once she seemed like she might not be willing to help him, and that she had better things to do. This was not going well. Perhaps if he asked nicely, politely, it would yield a better result?

"Molly, please, without asking why, just say these words." _Maintain control._

"What words?" A faint smile appeared on her lips. Maybe it wasn't a lost cause after all.

"I - love - you." He said it slowly, matter-of-factly, hoping Molly would understand there was a hidden reason why he was asking her to say them.

"Leave me alone." _Oh God, no!_ She was going to hang up on him.

Frantically he burst out with "Molly, no! Please no, don't hang up. Do _not_ hang up." He knew he sounded desperate now. John and Mycroft had to hear it in his voice. He gestured at the screen, as if he could convey through it how he wasn't playing a game. Only just over a minute left.

His heart broke when she demanded a reason for why he was doing this to her, making fun of her. He could hear the anguish in her tone and tried to assure her it was for a case. It was his only chance.

"It's a sort of experiment," he explained, hoping she would understand he was not trying to hurt her. Once again, he realised he'd miscalculated when he heard her response.

"I'm not an experiment, Sherlock." Now he could hear by the clipped tone of her voice that he had indeed hurt her. _Why is Eurus putting me through this torture?_ he wondered. _What is her connection to Moriarty anyway? How had she met him and planned all this?_ He didn't have time to think about that right now.

"No, I know you're not an experiment. You're my friend. We're _friends_." He knew his words were inadequate, but what else could he say in front of John and Mycroft? They had no clue he and Molly had even been lovers, let alone made two children together.

She continued to beg him not to ask her to say the words, until finally she revealed why she didn't want to say them. Suddenly, despite all his anxiety his heart lightened at her admission and for just a moment, time stood still as he processed it fully.

She loved him, had _always_ loved him. He had not lost her forever, after all.

He gazed unblinkingly at the screen. "If it's true, just say it anyway."

She still wasn't saying it, even when he repeated his plea. He should have known Molly wouldn't allow him to manipulate her that way. Instead she told him to say it first.

With only thirty seconds left, he mustered up the courage to say the words that had burned within him for years, the words that would bare his soul once and for all not only to her, but to his brother and best friend. It was time for them to know the truth anyway. The first time he said it a little uncertainly. He had said the words so many times in his head, but saying them out loud, especially with an audience, was completely different. After saying it though, he knew that was not enough, it sounded forced. He needed Molly to know that he truly loved her as well. He just wished she could see him in person when he expressed the words again softly, lovingly.

"I love you."

She almost didn't say it back in time so he had to beg her yet again. And finally, with mere seconds left, she spoke the words caressingly into the phone, holding it in front of her. At last he heard the words his heart had been longing to hear from her for so long, even as he saw the sparkle of tears on her lashes. "I love you."

Relief washed over Sherlock as he buried his face in his hands. Finally he'd done something right. He had saved the life of the woman he loved and their baby into the bargain. He had probably saved Victoria's life as well. He barely had time to register the fact that the call had been disconnected and that Molly would undoubtedly wonder what the hell was going on when she didn't hear anything else from him. He needed to get to her, to explain.

Unfortunately, Eurus was not done with him yet and the vivisection would continue.

* * *

 **Author's note:** So here we are. What did you think of my little explanation about Sherlock's survival following the explosion and the plans to get to Sherrinford? How did you find Sherlock's inner thoughts during the phone call? I tried to think of how it would have been for him if he really had had a romantic relationship with Molly and a family of his own, and I think the whole thing would have been even more traumatic than it truly was if that had been the case.

The timeline in the final episode is so ambiguous. This is my interpretation - what's yours? Have you even thought about things like this in depth? I'm always analyzing the episodes myself. Are you passionate enough about Sherlock and Molly to even have your own head canon on events? Sharing theories is always fun, so don't hold back. The review box below is waiting as always for you to offer your own opinions.

If you are following this story and have never reviewed, please be aware that I respond to everyone who even follows/favourites with a pm. If you have not seen one, you are most likely using the app which doesn't show pm's sent through the website. I _want_ to hear from you and I really appreciate those of you who have thoughtfully left your reviews as the story has gone along.


	42. Full Disclosure

**Special author's note:** If you are wondering about the long delay in my updating this, it's because I lost my beloved father-in-law-law last week and we have just passed through all the elements of loss that ended in a Celebration of Life funeral where my daughters and I had the opportunity to open the service with a song called "Blessings." (Look it up on YouTube. It is by Laura Story).

Those of you who have spent the time in getting to know me, the person behind the stories, already know the circumstances and I thank you for your prayers and support through this difficult time.

For the majority of the silent readers who follow my writing but don't know me as more than just another fanfiction writer whose stories they read, I want to share what those who do know me are aware of.

There is no way to accurately describe the heartbreak of the loss of a loved one like a parent. My father-in-law, who was as much a father to me as my own who passed away in 2016, was a faithful servant and follower of Jesus Christ. He had a servant's heart and led by example in being part of many ministries in our church. He touched so many lives and was dearly loved by so many as well. I can only hope to emulate him and do the same in my own life, privately and through my writing.

When you know Jesus, there is hope even while enduring suffering and great loss. My father-in-law is now waiting for me and in no more pain, completely whole, in heaven. You can have that blessed assurance too if you know and trust in Jesus as your Saviour.

Just a little heads-up. I have begun work on a story that will contain a lot of what I and my family have been experiencing this past week. This story will be a departure from my usual romance storytelling as it will deal with the loss of Sherlock's father. But don't worry, it is set in 2027. However, when I publish it, it will give major spoilers about the future of my characters. Question is - do I wait a few months to publish it or plan on publishing once I've finished writing it? Your thoughts on this would be appreciated so think about that as you read on.

* * *

Molly woke at her usual time on Saturday even though she wasn't working. She felt that slight fluttering inside her that indicated the baby was awake and placed a hand on the swell of her abdomen. She had a feeling that any day now, it was going to become apparent that she was pregnant again. Those baggy clothes could not hide it forever.

Feeling a little sentimental, remembering the day she and Sherlock had gone out crime-solving together, Molly put on her striped jumper. It was one of the few that still fit, having been stretched over the years from multiple washings.

The day did not begin well. Victoria was throwing a tantrum, demanding to see her daddy. She did not want to accept Molly's explanation that Daddy was out of town. "But why, Mummy?" she asked and Molly could not provide the toddler with a definitive answer.

Victoria cried, refused to eat her lunch and behaved so poorly that Molly could feel a headache coming on. Finally, she put the fussy toddler down for a nap, reading her a story until the child finally fell asleep.

Molly went into her kitchen and took a couple of Panadol with a few sips of water. Then she walked to her kitchen window and gazed unseeingly out of it for some time. She was anxious about Sherlock, but still irritated as well. Finally she decided to make a soothing cup of tea with honey and lemon. She just wanted to relax and indulge in a little self pity while she didn't have to deal with Victoria.

She had just started to prepare the tea, when the phone rang. She glanced at it and saw it was Sherlock. So _now_ he wanted to talk with her? Well, he could just bloody well wait. She was going to make her tea in peace. She ignored the call. When it rang a second time though, she decided she might as well just pick up the phone, but she was not going to make it easy on him.

It was a shock therefore, when out of the blue he was asking her to say she loved him. She didn't understand why now, of all things, he needed to hear it from her. Every time he tried to ask her, she made an excuse, side-stepping from what he wanted. She couldn't do it, not now. She'd been through too much. He was torturing her mentally.

Finally though, defeated, she admitted the truth to him, without saying the words, just saying they were true, had always been true. And the bastard had the nerve to just tell her to say it anyway. He had sounded so desperate for her to say the words, and now he was so cocky about it, it was truly embarrassing that he needed her to humiliate herself further.

So she did the only thing that could ease some of the sting, regain some control. She told him to say it first. When he hesitated, she told him to say it like he meant it. She wasn't really sure if he would. After all, they had had many opportunities in which he could have told her he loved her, and he had not done so, but finally, this time he _did_ do it. He said it once, almost stumbling over the words, but then he said it again, and it brought a smile to her face. It had sounded so real, as if he meant it. He had done what she asked.

She looked at the phone dreamily until his voice cut in, with the same note of urgency he'd used earlier in the conversation. "Molly, please!"

She remembered then that she had to do her part, so she did so, whispering the words that had been harboured in her heart for years.

"I love you."

What she didn't expect was for him to hang up on her so abruptly. She had bared her soul to him, admitted her love, and he had hung up, as if he'd been playing her all along.

Her tea forgotten, Molly sat at her table and wept for the way he had humiliated her, forced it out of her, and she doubted that his "I love you" had been real after all. It was yet another manipulation. She was a pawn in his eternal chess game, being moved across the board, being sacrificed when it suited him.

And that's when she started to have cramps and feared she was going into premature labour. She panicked, immediately calling Mrs. Hudson.

Thank God, the woman was home.

"Mrs. Hudson, can you come over right away? I've...I've been having some cramping and I'm scared...I'm scared I'm losing the baby." She couldn't help the sob in her voice.

To her credit, Mrs. Hudson didn't waste any time, but arrived within twenty minutes.

As soon as she entered, she asked, "Now what's this about, dear? What has brought this on?"

"It's...it's Sherlock." Molly could barely get the words out. She felt that stabbing pain again and clutched at her abdomen.

Mrs. Hudson looked confused and concerned as she put a hand on Molly's shoulder. "Sherlock? What has happened? Did something happen to him?"

"He...he called me. I'm so confused. He...he made me tell him I loved him. And then he hung up on me!" She knew she was almost hysterical, and the cramps kept coming and going.

"Molly, dear, there must be some explanation. You need to take a few deep breaths. I'm calling the hospital to see if an ambulance can be sent for you," said the landlady in an authoritative voice, taking charge.

 _Thank God Victoria is still asleep,_ thought Molly miserably. "The number for the hospital is on the fridge," she said. It wasn't Bart's, which was not a maternity hospital. Of course, it was easier to hide her pregnancy when she didn't have to go there for her ultrasound scans.

Victoria awoke a few minutes before the ambulance came. The toddler was noticeably upset that her mummy was being taken away, but Molly tried to assure her everything would be okay.

"It's going to be okay, sweet pea. Mummy is just having some pains. Nanny Hudders will look after you while I'm gone." She kissed her daughter goodbye and allowed herself to be taken away.

At the hospital, after an examination, Molly was taken to get an ultrasound, to make sure things were okay with the baby.

By the time of the scan, Molly was starting to feel better. It had most likely been a false alarm, brought on by stress, she reflected. Fortunately the ultrasound supported her idea. The baby showed no signs of distress, and Molly breathed a sigh of relief. She also found out that the baby was turned to an accommodating position, and the technician was able to tell Molly the sex of the baby.

"We're going to keep you here overnight for observation though," her doctor informed her. "You are dehydrated, so we're going to get some fluids into you. We don't want to take any chances. If you are still feeling fine tomorrow, you may go home in the morning."

Molly nodded and closed her eyes, giving a silent prayer of thankfulness that the baby she loved dearly already was okay.

She was taken to a private room and attached to a saline drip. Molly lay there for a few hours, watching as the saline replenished the fluids in her body. She was not surprised she was dehydrated. She had not eaten or drunk much over the past few days, not since she had seen the report of the explosion really; she had been too concerned for Sherlock. She should have taken better care of herself.

Molly lay there for hours, unable to sleep. Her thoughts were still troubled. She was relieved that the contractions had stopped, but her heart still ached for Sherlock. She had passed the point of being bitter and was now feeling concern once again. There had to be an explanation for what had happened. She didn't have the complete picture. Sherlock had been rude to her in the past, he had neglected her at times, but he had also shown he cared for her many other times and she had even felt at times that he loved her. One thing he had never been, except when it came to her relationships with other men, cruel in the way he talked to her. _God, I'm putting this in your hands,_ she prayed and felt peace settle over her. She just had to be patient.

At around ten o'clock at night, according to the wall clock, a nurse named Erika, Molly saw by her badge, entered to take her vitals.

"Would you like another blanket or pillow to make you comfortable so you can sleep?" she asked kindly in a slightly accented voice. By the K in her name, Molly surmised she was German. She was sure if Sherlock was there, he would be able to accurately deduce the woman's heritage. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth at the thought.

"No thank you," she responded with a yawn. She was starting to get sleepy at last.

"Well, just press the call button if you need anything," responded Erika, giving her a smile before leaving the room.

Molly's eyes drifted closed and soon, she slept.

She awoke sometime later to the sound of an argument at the nurses' station located quite close to the door of Molly's room, and knew immediately who it was. There was no mistaking Sherlock's deep baritone, and her heart leapt suddenly.

"I need to see her!" he was insisting rather loudly in a frustrated sounding voice.

"Sir, she is probably sleeping right now. It's three o'clock in the morning. Why don't you take a seat out here?" came the calm, steadying voice of the night nurse on duty. Molly recognised it as the same nurse who had tended her earlier, Erika.

Sherlock was not to be placated. "Don't you know who I am?" He paused and added in a deadly tone, "Erika?" obviously reading her name badge and Molly cringed slightly, hoping he wouldn't make a scene.

"I, uh, sir-"

"For your information, I am Sherlock Holmes, the man who just exposed a serial killer recently, and if I say I need to see someone, I will bloody well see them!"

Molly could hear the tightness in the woman's voice as she responded. "Very well, Mr. Holmes. There is no need for such language. You may go in, but if you cause any more trouble, I will have security throw you out."

Sherlock's voice softened. "I won't cause any more trouble, I just need to see the woman I love."

Molly drew in her breath. He was telling the nurse he loved her now? Erika gave Sherlock her room number, and she held her breath as the door opened moments later. Suddenly, he was inside the room, seeming to fill it completely with his presence. He looked dishevelled however, definitely not his normal self. His hair was a wild mass of curls around his head and his clothes, under the unbuttoned Belstaff were not neat, but rumpled, as if he had slept in them, or worn them for more than a day.

He came to the side of the bed immediately and took her hand when he saw she was awake and looking at him. "Molly! Mrs. Hudson told me you had to go to the hospital. Are you okay? Is the baby okay?" There was fear in his voice. She was still trying to process the fact that he was actually here, in her hospital room.

"The baby's fine. I'm fine. I, well, I was stressed and dehydrated and that brought on Braxton Hicks contractions."

"Oh, God, Molly." She could hear the anguish in his voice as he sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. "It's all my fault. If anything had happened to you - or the baby, I would never have forgiven myself."

She didn't miss the fact that he had asked about her first, rather than the baby.

He got back up and pulled off his coat, tossing it onto a chair, then sat down once more. "Molly, about yesterday. I'm so sorry. I came as soon as I could get away."

She looked at him questioningly. "Get away from where?"

"From Sherrinford."

Molly had no clue what he was talking about. It was not a name she was familiar with. "What is Sherrinford?"

He sighed. "It's a very long story, so I'll try to give you an abridged version. A few days after your last visit to Baker Street to watch over me, I discovered I had a younger sister I didn't remember."

He recounted the details of what had led to the discovery and Molly was shocked, especially when he explained that the woman had masqueraded as Faith Smith and John's therapist, then tranquilised the doctor during one of his therapy sessions after revealing herself to be the younger sister of Mycroft and Sherlock.

He continued with disturbing details that shocked Molly further, explaining Eurus's psychotic nature that had manifested at an early age and how she had set fire to the ancestral home, Musgrave Hall. "She has been incarcerated at an island prison called Sherrinford since early childhood. Mycroft, John and I made plans after she had a drone with a grenade attached fly through my kitchen window and we barely escaped with our lives." He gave Molly a guilty look. "I wanted to tell you what was going on, but Mycroft whisked John and myself away to make our plans and insisted on complete secrecy because he knew the security of the island prison had obviously been compromised and he didn't know who we could trust."

Molly gasped. "That must have been so frightening. Thank you for explaining. I must admit, I was very hurt when you never contacted me after the explosion."

Sherlock sighed. "I'm sure you were. Please know that when we were standing in the flat, discussing our options, I thought about you and Victoria and our unborn baby. I...even prayed to God that we'd survive."

Molly couldn't help smiling at that. "You did? God answered your prayers."

He squeezed her hand. "Yes, He did." He went on with his story. "Anyway, we went to the prison via unconventional means, I'll explain those later, but now's not the time for that. My sister, Eurus, has been getting in and out of Sherrinford for months, and we needed some answers. When we got there, we discovered she had captivated the entire staff at the prison, was controlling them. Molly, she was the one who was conspiring with Moriarty, the big case I've been expecting for months."

Molly was having a hard time understanding everything. It was all so surreal, a sister, the Moriarty case at last being revealed, but she nodded, indicating that he continue. She knew Sherlock was trying to give her the basics for now.

"Anyway," Sherlock went on, "we were captured and locked in various rooms that she controlled. She forced us - John, Mycroft and myself, to go through these little tests, terrible ones. I'll explain them later. But I need to explain about the one that concerned you."

It was starting to make sense now. So the phone call had been some kind of test for Sherlock. "What...what was the test?"

Sherlock continued to hold her hand, and rested the other on her abdomen. "All of these tests were to gauge my emotional responses to various kinds of sentiment, I perceive. For the one with you, Eurus had placed a coffin in a room, an empty one. She wanted me to deduce for whom it was intended. Molly, my darling, I figured out the coffin was meant for you."

Molly gulped, from both the endearment and the idea that she was supposed to be the intended inhabitant of the coffin. "Go on," she whispered, knowing where this was heading.

"Eurus stated there were bombs in your flat. There weren't, by the way, but I didn't know that at the time. She told me the only way to stop the bombs was for you to say the release code."

"I love you," said Molly softly.

"Yes. But you just weren't cooperating - first you didn't answer the bloody phone, then you did everything you could to avoid saying it. You put me through hell, Molly."

"I put _you_ through hell?" She pulled her hand away, folded her hands in her lap and gave a dry laugh. "How do you think I felt, having you insist on me telling you something I have been holding in for years? I never wanted to put you under any pressure, Sherlock. I never wanted you to feel obligated to me, even though we shared a child."

Suddenly, Sherlock leaned forward and pressed a brief kiss to her lips. "Couldn't you tell that I love you? Haven't I done everything to show you that? Didn't you read the inscription on the bloody locket? Do you think it was an accident that I chose 'Forever in my Heart?'"

"Well," she said carefully, "it could have meant that you and Victoria are forever in _my_ heart."

He rolled his eyes at that. "I'm sorry. I should have said the words before. I've always been scared though - scared of not being good enough for you. Then every time we'd get close, something would happen to pull us apart again. But it's over now, Molly. I promise it is. After everything went down, I told John I needed to see you as immediately after we got back to London. As soon as you get out of here, I want us to speak with him together, but there's something I need to do first."

As he got up and walked towards his discarded Belstaff, Sherlock said conversationally, "I stopped off at my flat before I went to see you. I had to take something out of my bedside drawer. Quite fortuitous that my bedroom didn't suffer any damage from the grenade. How did you find out what happened anyway?"

Molly looked down at her hands, twisting her fingers together nervously. She remembered seeing the ring box in his drawer that night she'd been looking for a clean pair of boxers for him. Could he possibly be planning to propose? She didn't dare look at him, in case she had things wrong and was just giving herself false hope. "I saw it on the news, Sherlock. I went to see Mrs. Hudson and she told me what happened, and that you had left in a hurry. I was a little upset about it."

He looked over his shoulder at her, pausing in his task. "Is that why you didn't answer the phone the first time?"

Molly raised her eyes to his. "It was one of the reasons. I was a bit bitter, I admit it, when days when by and you still hadn't contacted me. Victoria was also asking me where you were and I had no answers."

"I'm so sorry, Molly. Forgive me," he said earnestly and a smile crossed her lips.

"I'll always forgive you, Sherlock, you know that. That's what being a Christian is all about, forgiving without conditions attached."

His own lips lifted in an answering smile. "Thank you." He turned his attention back to his Belstaff, searching for something in the pocket, as he continued. "Anyway, I noticed Mrs. Hudson wasn't at home when I went back to Baker Street. Of course, now I know she was at your place. I'm afraid I gave her a bit of a scare when I used my spare key to enter the flat and disturbed her on the sofa."

"I can just imagine," said Molly with a little chuckle.

Sherlock finally found what he was looking for and walked back to the bed. To her utter astonishment, he didn't sit back on the bed, but instead knelt by it, looking up at her and then he held out a dark red velvet box, opened to show a heart-shaped diamond solitaire ring.

Molly put her hands to her mouth and gasped. She could hardly believe it. It was indeed the ring box she had spied in Sherlock's drawer, the one she assumed had been used for his proposal to Janine. She supposed if he was going to propose, it made sense that he wouldn't go out and buy a new ring for her, but she felt slightly deflated anyway. She opened her mouth to speak but Sherlock put up his finger for her to keep silent, and she was glad she did because everything was made transparently clear by Sherlock's next words.

"Let me say this, Molly. This has always been my endgame with you. From the first time we kissed in the lab, even before we made love, I've thought about you constantly. You invaded my thoughts consistently in the two years I was away from London. Sometimes it was only thoughts of coming back to you that kept me going, especially at the end, when I was being tortured. This ring - I've had it since shortly after I returned to London. The day we went out crime-solving together, when I told you how much you mattered to me, well, I was planning to propose when I saw a ring already on your finger." Suddenly his eyes blurred with tears, or was it her own blurring, because she was not seeing very well. She blinked away a few tears, noting it was both of them.

"Sherlock," she whispered, her heart so full of both regret for the wasted years, and love for this man who was now kneeling before her.

"Let me finish," he pleaded, and she nodded. "One thing has never changed, Molly, how I feel about you. I couldn't say the words for so long, because the timing was never right - either you were not free, or there was impending danger. I'm saying it now. I love you, Molly Hooper, without reservation, with every breath that is within me. I want to be with you for the rest of my life, raising our children together, showing you how much I love you. I want to protect you and give you my name if you'll take it." He had been talking very fast, and finally, it seemed as if he'd run out of steam. His next words were slow, hesitant. "Marry me, Molly. I can't imagine life without you in it, and at this point, I can't imagine it without you as my wife, or at least, my fiancée, until I can figure out the fastest way to carry you off to get married." He took the ring out of the box and held it out to her hesitantly, as if he wasn't entirely sure of her answer.

Her answer came on a sob even as she realised that God had answered her prayers. "Yes, Sherlock, I'll marry you." And for the first time she saw the joy she felt reflected on his face as tears spilled from both of their eyes.

* * *

 **Author's note:** THE END - just kidding, I'd never leave a story hanging like that! At last we are on the final trajectory of this story. I know it has been a very long, bumpy ride, and I've lengthened the story significantly from what I originally wrote over a year ago.

Now that we are past the canon, I hope you will continue to enjoy the wrap-up as we head for one of my "famous" happy endings. At the completion of the dream there will also be a two-chapter conclusion in the "real" world as well. Did you forget this is a dream? I know, you really had to suspend your disbelief on the detail in it, but hopefully you can overlook that. Remember to hit the follow/favourite button if you feel the story has met your standards of quality in the various aspects of its romance, angst, family, drama and spirituality. I do wish you could use more than two tags to label stories on this site.

Your comments also indicate to others that my stories are worthwhile, and I appreciate any help I can get for exposure to other readers. Are you willing to make a public statement that you are one of my supporters? I know some of you are and you bless me so much already. It would be delightful to hear from more people though. As I've stated before, fanfiction is an interactive medium, not a one-way one like a library. Feedback is a great motivator.

Finally, if you recognise some of Sherlock's passionate proposal speech to Molly, that is because I took some of it directly from what my "real" Sherlock said to Molly during his personal vows on their wedding day in _A Journey to Love, Faith and Marriage._


	43. A Family Reunited for Good

Sherlock knew he was grinning like a schoolboy. She had said yes! Molly Hooper had said yes to marrying him!

Sherlock stood and slid the ring onto the third finger of her left hand, struggled with it a little then grimaced. "Why isn't it fitting as well as it should? I'm sure I know your size."

She gave him a little grin. "You forget, I'm five and a half months pregnant, even if I don't look it. My fingers have swollen a little."

"Ah," he murmured, relieved that his deductive powers were not in error. He finally got the ring over her knuckle until it sat there on her finger, sparkling brightly, proclaiming to all the world that she was his.

"Can I stay with you now, until you're released from the hospital?" he asked hopefully. Molly obligingly slid over to make room for him, and he pulled her close, careful not to dislodge the drip that was still attached to her, kissing her gently.

It wasn't long before Molly drifted into sleep, but Sherlock remained awake, thinking about all that had occurred since that fateful call that had changed his life, and Molly's, forever. The call that had brought them to this place.

After the call had ended, Eurus mocked him, talking about the way emotional context destroyed him. He had been relieved though that she had not actually intended Molly any harm. Nevertheless, the whole idea of feeling like a rat, trapped in a maze had made him so angry he had destroyed the coffin meant for Molly.

When the next test came, and he was asked to choose who to kill, Mycroft or John, he knew he had no choice. He sent up a silent prayer for God and Molly to forgive him and turned the gun on himself. The experiments had to stop - either by Eurus's hand, or by his own death.

What happened next seemed almost like a dream. He found himself at his own childhood home, Musgrave Hall.

What had then transpired would haunt him forever. Memories of a friend, Victor, had come back to him. Victor was Redbeard. There was no dog with that name. Victor had disappeared and never been found. As memories of that long ago time surfaced like bubbles that had been trapped beneath the water and were struggling for freedom, Sherlock felt a flood of emotion that he had never felt before come over him, along with the restored memories. The years of trying to repress his emotions around others, the walls he had built to guard his emotions from everyone except Molly, dissolved.

Finally, he solved his sister's puzzle, the one he should have solved to save his friend when he was a child. This time it served to help him find Eurus and to convince her to tell him where John was. John was in the same well where Victor's bones were. Victor had not survived, but John did.

As Eurus was taken away in a state of catatonia, he talked with John and Lestrade, who informed him that Mycroft was safe. He had been locked up in Eurus's old cell. She had not killed him as she could have done.

As soon as the helicopter returned John and himself to London, Sherlock made a beeline for his flat. That phone call made him realise once and for all he couldn't stand the thought of living without Molly. It was time to make things right, and make sure she knew he was serious about it.

The exterior of the building still looked terrible, some glass from the windows was still on the street, although the windows had been temporarily covered with plastic to keep out the elements. Mrs. Hudson had probably done that, seeing as he, Mycroft and John had not been around since the explosion. He unlocked the door and headed upstairs to his ruined flat. He noted immediately that Mrs. Hudson did not come out to greet him as she usually would, and that her flat was in darkness. Apparently she was not home.

As Sherlock walked through the ruins of his sitting room he reflected that it was truly fortunate that the blast radius of the grenade had been confined to the sitting room and kitchen. His bedroom was fine. There was no doubt in his mind that God had saved them, answered his prayer.

Sherlock rummaged in the drawer until he found what he was looking for, the box containing the engagement ring he had bought for Molly years earlier. He only hoped she would forgive him and accept the ring.

When he had found Mrs. Hudson at Molly's flat though, disturbing the poor woman from a sound sleep when he had entered by using the key Molly had given him, giving his landlady a terrible fright initially, he had been shocked to hear Molly had been taken to hospital, fearing early labour. The elderly woman had been curious about his rather dishevelled state, but he had not had time to explain, merely saying he needed to get to the hospital to see Molly, and she had indicated the card on the fridge that had the number and address of the hospital.

As he took a taxi to the hospital, he prayed desperately that she was okay, that their baby was okay. That was when he realised even more clearly how foolish he had been to constantly deny the existence of God. There had to be a reason he was on this earth, and now he knew what it was. It was to do good in the world, to make it a better place, and it was to be with Molly Hooper. He loved her, and if she would allow it, he intended to spend the rest of his life proving it to her.

Now, he looked over at the ring on her finger. He knew she had forgiven him. He was so relieved to know everything was fine with her and their baby. Finally, he whispered, "I love you," kissed Molly's hair and fell asleep himself.

It seemed only minutes later, although it must have been hours, because sun shone into the room, when he was awoken by a nurse entering the room. Molly also woke.

The nurse said crisply, "Sir, if you intended to sleep here, there's a perfectly good armchair against the wall."

Sherlock merely looked at her disdainfully and said, "The bed was more comfortable. Besides, your patient just consented to become my wife."

The nurse, obviously an elderly spinster judging by her pinched features and the lack of any rings or other jewellery, with not a romantic bone in her body, shrugged. "Well, I need to examine her, so if you would please remove yourself from the bed, I'd appreciate it. I'm sure you'd like her to be able to go home today, wouldn't you?"

"Of course," he agreed, disengaging from their tangle of limbs and removing himself from the bed.

The nurse checked Molly's vitals, then said to Molly, "Your blood pressure is slightly elevated, but still within the normal range. I'll see that the release papers are written up. You should be able to leave as soon as they have been completed."

She left the room without even glancing again at Sherlock, and Molly looked over at him with a smile. "Are you really here, or am I dreaming?"

"Look at your finger," he told her with an eye-roll.

She did so, then looked up at him again, biting her lip. "You're sure this is what you want?"

"Molly, I told you last night. This is what I've always wanted. I have to make a confession though. I did kind of use your ring when I fake proposed to Janine."

"So that was what you meant when you said the ring was real."

He nodded. "I figured I might as well make use of it. Of course, she never wore it, my love. It wasn't her size anyway."

"So you have really loved me and wanted to marry me since you came back to London?" He heard the note of amazement in her voice and went to stand beside the bed.

"Yes, sweetheart. Once we get out of this place, I'm going to prove it to you." He bent down and kissed her gently. Then he sat beside her on the bed, holding her hand, stroking her palm until the doctor arrived with the release papers.

While they were on their way back to Molly's flat, Sherlock decided he should call Mycroft. He needed to see for himself that his brother was not suffering from any ill-effects from his treatment at the hands of Eurus, and he also wanted to find a time to break the news to him about Molly and himself. Fortunately, his brother answered his phone almost immediately.

"Ah, brother mine, I have been expecting your call," Mycroft said in an unruffled tone.

"How are you feeling, Mycroft?" asked Sherlock, feeling he should at least get the commonplace health enquiries out of the way.

"As well as can be expected, considering our dear sister tried to play us off against one another. Thanks for not killing me, by the way," responded Mycroft, and Sherlock heard the sigh in his voice. "And how are you doing? Lestrade informed me of what transpired after I was knocked out and left in Eurus's cell. I am glad you were able to rescue John, and deeply sorry to hear about Victor."

Sherlock wanted to ask his brother why he had perpetuated the lie of Redbeard for so many years, why Mycroft had allowed him to think Redbeard was his dog, but he felt now was not the time. He had more important things on his mind and didn't want to get into an argument when he was feeling such euphoria about his own future. Instead he turned his head slightly to look at Molly, whose head was against his shoulder, one hand resting upon his knee.

"Pretty good actually. I need to speak with you about something rather important though," he informed his brother.

Mycroft let out a deep, resigned breath on the other end of the phone. "I know you must be angry about me not telling you about Victor for all these years-"

"No," interrupted Sherlock, "it isn't about Victor. This is news I wish to share with you about something else entirely, something current, not in the past."

Mycroft breathed an audible sigh of relief. "Well, I do apologise for my part in fostering the continuation of your re-written memories anyway, and at some point I know you will wish to know everything. In the meantime however, I need to speak with you as well. I have arranged for Mummy and Daddy to come up to London tomorrow and I would like you to be with me when we explain to them what has happened. I...feel the need for some moral support. I do not think they will be very happy with me about concealing the fact that their daughter was still alive."

Sherlock felt unexpected sympathy rise within himself for his brother. Apparently the events of Sherrinford had served to unlock his sentimental side in more ways than just allowing him to finally express his feelings fully to Molly. It was indeed going to be a difficult talk with his parents, but it would also give him the opportunity to share that they were to become grandparents again as well as gain a daughter-in-law. "Of course. I would like to share my news with you first, however."

"Very well. I have arranged for Mummy and Daddy to come to my office at eleven o'clock tomorrow morning. Why don't you come here at ten? You can tell me this mysterious news and we can discuss how to explain things to our parents." Sherlock was not at all surprised that Mycroft was already back at work. His brother was a typical workaholic. It had been quite amazing really that he had taken a few days off to arrange the details for their unexpected entrance into Sherrinford to confront Eurus.

"I'll see you then, Mycroft," Sherlock agreed, and rang off.

Once they arrived at Molly's flat, Sherlock insisted on unlocking the door, then waited for her to enter, before entering himself.

A little whirlwind rushed towards them, putting one arm around his leg and another around Molly's.

"Mummy! Daddy!"

Mrs. Hudson was right behind her. "I see you found where Molly was in the hospital," she remarked.

"Nothing could have kept me from her," he told his landlady, placing an affectionate hand on his daughter's head.

Mrs. Hudson, sharp-eyed as she was, suddenly said, "Is that an engagement ring on your finger, Molly?"

Sherlock picked up Victoria and kissed her, then swung her onto his hip as Molly said, "Sherlock proposed to me when he came into my room."

The landlady looked astonished. "When did you find time to buy a ring?"

"I bought it when I returned to London. Then I put it away because she was engaged to someone else," Sherlock explained.

"Well, it must be true love then. You didn't even know you had a baby yet at that time," Mrs. Hudson remarked.

Molly slipped her arm around his waist, and looked at him adoringly. The love in her eyes made his heart almost skip a beat. "It _is_ true love, Mrs. Hudson. It always has been, but we were both too stubborn and proud to say it out loud to one another."

"I told you Daddy loves you," Victoria stated, and Sherlock wondered when that particular conversation had happened.

"Well, sweetheart," he told his little girl, "How would you like it if Mummy and you and I were a proper family and lived together?"

Victoria put her arms around him. "Yes, please."

"Victoria, there's something else Mummy needs to tell you," Molly said.

"What, Mummy?" Victoria turned her head to look at her mother enquiringly.

Sherlock wondered what Molly was going to say. He looked at her curiously as well.

"You're going to be a big sister soon. Mummy has a baby in her tummy."

Victoria struggled to get down, so Sherlock gently deposited her on the floor. She immediately went to Molly and placed a hand on her mother's growing abdomen. "Baby? Like Wosie?"

That's right, sweetheart, and guess what?" Molly looked over at Sherlock as she spoke. "You're going to have a baby sister."

Sherlock's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. When had Molly found this out? She answered his unspoken question.

"They did another scan yesterday due to my contractions, in case the baby was in distress. This time they were able to determine we're having another girl."

Sherlock couldn't speak. His heart was so full of emotion - another little girl to love, this time, right from the start.

"Another daughter! Congratulations, dear," Mrs. Hudson said. "I guess you'll be needing those baby clothes back from John when Rosie is done with them."

"I guess so." Molly looked at Sherlock, and he heard a note of anxiety in her voice as she asked, "Are you disappointed it isn't a boy?"

He blinked, then looked directly at her. "Of course I'm not disappointed. I was thinking that this time I get to be with our baby right from the start, I won't have to miss more than a year of her life."

"Oh, thank God," Molly said in a choked voice.

Sherlock grinned and added a little cheekily, "Anyway, this means we shall need to keep practising until we manage to conceive a boy as well."

Molly punched his arm lightly and blushed. "Stop it, you!"

"Well, I think I'll be getting back to Baker Street for now," said Mrs. Hudson, looking from one to the other in obvious delight at their affectionate banter. "I'm sure you have a lot of things to discuss. I suggest you let John know what's going on though, and your brother, Sherlock. Oh, and Inspector Lestrade too. Won't they get a surprise?"

"John and my brother might be surprised when I tell them about Victoria and the fact that Molly is carrying my child again, but they won't be surprised to know I'm making an honest woman of her. Not after yesterday, when they heard me tell her I loved her."

"What's this now? What on earth exactly happened yesterday?"

"As you said, Mrs. Hudson, Molly and I have a lot to discuss. I'll hail a taxi for you now, and tell you all about it later."

So saying, he left the flat. A taxi passed by two minutes later and pulled over to the kerb at his hail. Mrs. Hudson dutifully got in, blushing a little at the kiss Sherlock placed on her cheek after he thanked her for all her help.

Back inside, he decided it was time for Molly and himself to make plans for their future together, this time, no more hiding it.

Victoria was sitting in front if the coffee table, carefully assembling a puzzle, and Sherlock gestured to Molly to join him at the kitchen table. When she did so, he asked, "Molly, I don't want to be apart from you overnight again. Would you mind if I stayed here with you until Baker Street has been cleaned up?"

She linked her fingers through his where they rested on the table. "I'd love for you to stay here. Once your flat is back to normal though, what then?"

Well-" he hesitated. He hoped she would be amenable to his request. "I was kind of hoping that you and Victoria would move in to Baker Street. There's the spare room upstairs for her." Then he added with a sheepish grin. "I could certainly make use of your furniture too."

Molly laughed, and it was a welcome sound. "So, that's the _real_ reason why you proposed - so you could get your hands on my furniture."

He grinned back, knowing she was only teasing. "Oh dear, my evil plan has been uncovered." He raised her hand to his lips. "Seriously though, what do you say?"

"Yes, Sherlock, a thousand times, yes."

He stood then and pulled her to her feet. Then he kissed her, savouring the infinite sweetness he found in her lips, wishing they were alone so he could take her to the bedroom and make love to her. But there would be plenty of time for that. Finally, he released her to say, "I'm going to ask John to come over so we can tell him everything. It's time he knew the truth."

"Do you think he will be angry?"

Sherlock blew out a long breath. "Probably. I'm sure he will be disappointed, but hopefully, because it involves you, he will restrain himself from trying to do me bodily harm." He gingerly touched the new scar along his brow, remembering John had been the one to put it there.

"I guess there's no time like the present," Molly agreed, her eyes following the path of his restless hand. "I won't let him hurt you though," she added, a little fiercely.

He reached out his hand then and stroked her cheek, then kissed her again, sucking gently on her lower lip briefly before he drew back. "I like it when you're feisty like that," he said in a soft, caressing tone.

Her smile compelled him to reach for her again, this time kissing her deeply, rubbing his hands along her back as her hands went around his neck, teasing his curls with her fingertips and stirring pangs of desire within him again.

"All done," came a little voice proudly and Sherlock came back to himself, pulling back once again from a very flushed looking Molly. He felt slightly embarrassed to have completely forgotten his daughter's presence.

He turned to Victoria, looking at the completed puzzle which now displayed a scene from Frozen. He walked over, bent down and kissed her forehead, then said, "My clever little girl!" Another puzzle box sat beside the first. "Do you want to do this one with the snowman?" he asked and she nodded.

"I'll help Victoria put away this puzzle so she can start the new one," said Molly, coming to stand beside him. He couldn't help smirking a little at the thoroughly kissed nature of her lips and still heightened colour. "Why don't you text John as you were planning to do?" she suggested.

He'd completely forgotten about that too in the haze of desire that had filled him. He really had a singular lack of self-control around Molly, he noted rather ruefully to himself, feeling that longing to be with her physically once again. "Er, yes, of course."

Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he sent a text to John.

 _John, come to Molly's flat now if convenient. If inconvenient, come anyway._

John's response came in a few minutes later. _This had better be good, Sherlock. You're damned lucky Rosie is with Stella and Ted right now or I'd say no despite your arrogant tone._

 _I assure you it will be worth your while to come,_ Sherlock responded, then quickly added, feeling Molly would disapprove of him behaving as if his needs were more important than anyone else's. _Sorry for the inconvenience._

 _Right, mate, I know your methods. I'll be there in an hour or so._

As soon as that was done, Sherlock sat on the sofa with Molly and placed a call to New Scotland Yard and asked for Lestrade who was fortunately there.

As soon as the receptionist put Sherlock through to Greg's office, the inspector answered with "What's up, Sherlock? You're not ready to dive back into another case already, are you? I should think you need a little time to get over everything that happened with your sister."

Sherlock cleared his throat, looking at Molly. "Actually, it may be a little while before I take on any new cases. I'll be a bit preoccupied with planning a wedding and honeymoon."

"Really?" asked Greg with interest. "Whose wedding are you helping to plan this time? Has Mrs. Hudson been secretly seeing someone recently and asked for your help in planning her wedding due to her advanced years?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Of course not. That is a simply ludicrous notion. Mrs. Hudson is far too set in her ways to share her life with another man at this time of her life." He noticed Molly smirk at that, as if she thought the same could have applied to him, but he knew that was not the case. He'd make any changes necessary to ensure her complete contentment. He gave her a mock frown and continued, "I'm talking about my own wedding and honeymoon."

There was a shocked silence for a few moments before Lestrade said slowly, "Are you having me on? You've never showed any interest in a woman in all the years I've known you. Unless you have suddenly realised your friendship with John goes deeper than friendship...but that would mean he's bi-sexual and that doesn't seem to fit with what I've seen of him over the years."

Sherlock huffed out an annoyed breath. "Oh, for God's sake, Lestrade, John is not bi-sexual, nor am I gay. I am marrying the woman who has always stood by me, helped me fake my death and is also the mother of my child."

Greg gasped, "Are you talking about Molly? What the hell, Sherlock? You've been carrying on an affair with her under our noses since before you left London for two years? That little girl of hers is your offspring?"

Sherlock saw the blush on Molly's face as she listened in on the conversation. He reached his free hand to clasp hers reassuringly and looked affectionately over at his daughter who was now preoccupied with her new puzzle before responding. "yes, Victoria is my child and I hid my relationship with Molly for her protection and that of my daughter. However, that is all in the past and the threat of Moriarty is well and truly over. In the past, I've put my investigations ahead of my family life and that is no longer going to be the case. Molly and our children come first from now on."

"I suppose now it makes sense why she didn't marry that other fellow who was with her at John's wedding," commented Greg. Then he said suspiciously, "Hang on a minute, did you say _children_? Holy Mary, you got her up the duff again, didn't you? My God, you're a genius Sherlock; haven't you heard of a little thing called birth control?"

Sherlock's lips tightened and he said stiffly, "Despite the circumstances, I am proud that Victoria is my child and no less enthusiastic at the prospect of becoming a father for a second time."

Sherlock saw the colour rise in Molly's cheeks again and she put her flaming face against his shoulder. "Sorry," he mouthed, feeling slightly guilty at revealing such private information, even if it would become apparent quite soon that they were expecting. He spoke into the phone. "At any rate, John will be here soon, and I think he is going to be a little upset with me about keeping this secret from him, so I must prepare my mind palace to deal with his reaction and present my explanation in a logical and calm manner."

Greg chuckled. "Well, Sherlock, I'm very glad you've found real happiness at last. You're a good man and Molly is a good woman too. Please pass on my congratulations about your engagement and the baby as well."

"I shall do so," responded Sherlock, feeling relieved that Lestrade had not continued to harass or tease him. "Goodbye, Greg."

He disconnected the call and took a deep breath. "One explanation down, two to go."

He stood then, remembering he had not yet looked for the hidden cameras that had been placed in Molly's flat. A short hunt, taking into account the direction he recalled had been used to show the video images of Molly, led to Sherlock finding the miniature cameras that had been set up in her flat. He slipped them into his pocket. Eventually he'd have to investigate how they had made their way there, but for now, there were more pressing matters.

By the time John arrived, Sherlock had seated himself on the sofa again with Victoria, who had finished the other puzzle, on his lap. He waited, feeling slightly nervous as Molly opened the door to admit his friend. It was time to confess everything to his best friend and hope they would still be friends afterwards.

* * *

 **Author's note:** Sorry for the length of time between updates again. Sending my firstborn off to college meant busy times here, and we are still dealing with our recent loss, although things are getting better. Thanks to those of you (I might have anticipated it would be the same ones who have always been behind me with their support) who acknowledged my last chapter's author's note and gave words of encouragement and comfort. It's a good feeling to know that at least some of my readers do care about _me_ as well as my writing. It sets you apart as very special people in my life. God bless you!

Credit for the phone conversation with Greg must go to reader **MCH1987** who wondered about Lestrade's reaction, which I had not thought to put in. So I added that phone call just for her. I aim to cover all bases when someone poses a question. Hope you enjoyed this conversation that did not exist until a few days ago.

So, what do you think John's reaction will be to the news? How about Mycroft's? A correct guess will merit a mention of your name in the next chapter so don't be shy!


	44. Long Overdue Explanation & Confrontation

Molly stood aside for John as he entered her flat. "Now, what's so important that I had to come over here so urgently?"

"Perhaps you had better sit down," Molly suggested, indicating her yellow armchair to the other side of the sofa.

John gave her an assessing look, then sat. "If you're going to tell me the two of you are together now, I've already figured it out. I heard the way Sherlock sounded when he said he loved you and you'd already admitted it to him. I don't need to be a genius to draw the obvious conclusion here." He smirked a little. "Besides, I can see the ring on your finger Molly, although God knows how Sherlock found time to get one at short notice." Then he looked over at Sherlock. "I see you're getting all domesticated with Molly's daughter already," he commented.

Molly took a seat next to Sherlock and tried to take Victoria from him. Unfortunately, her daughter clung to him and refused to let go. Then out of her toddler's mouth came words that made it abundantly clear to John about the actual long-standing nature of the relationship between Sherlock and Molly. "No Mummy, I want to stay with Daddy."

John did a double take, as his eyes widened in astonishment. "What the hell?" he began. "Jesus Chri-"

Sherlock interrupted him with a mild, "Please watch your language in front of my daughter."

John looked from Sherlock to Molly, then back at Sherlock with narrowed eyes. "This is complete bullsh-", at a glare from Sherlock he swallowed the rest of the word and continued, "Sherlock, you've kept me in the dark before about things, and I don't appreciate it. I thought I was your best friend," he said angrily.

"Daddy, why is he mad?" asked Victoria, twisting around in Sherlock's lap to look at his face.

"Sweetheart, your daddy needs to talk with Uncle John. Let's go into your bedroom for a little bit," Molly told her daughter. Even though Victoria had seen very little of John, she had become used to calling Mary, Auntie Mary, so by default John was an honorary uncle. Ignoring Victoria's protests, she lifted the child off Sherlock's lap and walked to the second bedroom with her, leaving the door open.

Once there, Molly pulled out an alphabet block puzzle and dumped out the letters onto the floor in an attempt to distract Victoria. "How fast can you put all the letters in the puzzle?" she asked. Of course, Victoria was way past the age to use block puzzles, but there were no regular puzzles at hand and Molly knew Victoria would enjoy a speed challenge.

Victoria immediately began placing the letters in the puzzle, leaving Molly free to strain to listen to the conversation between the two men.

Molly bit her lip and listened to John's tirade. "My God, why didn't you tell me you and Molly were involved? What the hell is wrong with you? And don't think I missed the fact that she's obviously pregnant as well. I assume the baby is yours?"

"Of course the baby is mine, John," came Sherlock's calm reply.

"All these lies, you git. Why did you let me think you had a thing for Irene Adler?" came John's voice, still sounding indignant.

"I was trying to protect Molly and Victoria, as well as our unborn child. You know how dangerous Moriarty was. As for Irene, you made your own assumptions. It suited my purposes to not dissuade you of the notion."

"So when I was spouting all that stuff about you and Irene in High Wycombe, you were secretly laughing at me, were you?"

"Pretty much." Molly pressed her lips together at Sherlock's rather smug tone. It was not a good idea for him to sound that way when Jon was already riled up.

"You are a complete arse, you know that?"

"Of course I do, I said it myself at your wedding. But I'm Molly's arse. I always have been," returned Sherlock calmly, in a more placating manner and Molly relaxed a little. At least he wasn't trying to defend himself.

"I think you need to start from the beginning, Sherlock. When did this all happen between you and Molly? If I didn't see the evidence in front of my eyes I wouldn't believe it."

"Well, it's a long story. It starts about nineteen years ago, when Molly and I met at uni..."

As Sherlock began to explain to John about his initial and subsequent meetings with Molly during their uni days, she picked up Victoria, who had finished assembling the block puzzle and was rubbing her eyes.

"I'm tired Mummy. Can I sleep now?"

"Of course you can, sweetie. Do you want to get into your pyjamas?"

"No," murmured the toddler. "Too sleepy."

Molly tucked her daughter into the bed, which had been converted into a bed from the cot-bed it had been initially, and quietly closed the door to the room before heading back to sit beside Sherlock.

"So, you're saying you got together when you were staying with Molly after you faked your death?" John was asking. Then he added, almost to himself, "Well, I guess the timeline fits."

"You have to understand, John," said Molly tentatively. "Obviously, there was no way I could tell anyone the baby was Sherlock's when he was supposed to be dead. I didn't confide in anyone until I was several months pregnant, and then it was just Mrs. Hudson."

"So Mrs. Hudson has known all these years?" John rubbed a hand across his face. "It all makes sense, no wonder she's so quick to offer her babysitting services, she's always had a soft spot for Sherlock." He furrowed his brow in confusion. "But hang on a minute - she thought Sherlock was dead as well."

Molly blushed. "I told her we got together one night shortly before his death. She never questioned it. She was too happy that he would have a child to carry on the family name, well, sort of. Obviously I couldn't have Holmes put on the birth certificate."

John gave her a reproachful look. "I have to say, Molly, I would've thought you'd be above this type of deceit."

Molly blushed again, "I'm sorry, John. As soon as Sherlock came back, I told him about Victoria, but he didn't want to acknowledge her at the time, because I was engaged to Tom."

"And Molly refused to break off her engagement as well," put in Sherlock. "By the way, if you look at Molly's ring closely, you'll see it's the same one I used when I fake proposed to Janine."

"So Molly's ring is Janine's cast-off? That's pretty low," said John, shaking his head.

"Oh, for God's sake, John, use your brain. I bought the ring for Molly when I came back to London. When I found out she was engaged, I put it away. The only time it has been out of my bedside drawer is when I used it for Janine and when I put it in my coat pocket the day everything went down with Vivian Norbury, because I was planning to propose to Molly after I confronted that madwoman."

John's face clouded and Molly could see he still felt Mary's loss acutely. Then she registered what Sherlock had said and looked at him. "You _were_ planning to propose to me that night? That's the important thing you wanted to ask me that you never ended up asking? I was kind of hoping that, but after everything that happened, I didn't think about it again."

Sherlock nodded solemnly. "Yes, love, I was going to ask you to marry me. I was also planning to confess my love for you before I proposed though."

Molly's eyes widened. "That was the thing you wanted to tell me. Oh, Sherlock," she breathed. She bent closer to him and would have kissed him if John's voice hadn't reminded her they were not alone.

"Um, do you two need some time to yourselves to process this rather, uh, private information?"

Sherlock turned his gaze away from Molly towards his friend. "No, it's fine. I'm not ashamed of my love for Molly. I was just an idiot to not make things clear much earlier. I should have told her I loved her first when I came back and then asked her to call off her engagement, rather than being afraid of rejection."

John's mouth opened, then closed again. He seemed to be struggling to find the right words. Finally he said, "So, you're basically saying you've been in love with Molly since before you even left London?"

Sherlock took Molly's hand and squeezed it. She felt the comforting pressure of his fingers as he said, "I think I fell in love with her the day we met. It just took me a hell of a long time to actually say the words. If it weren't for Eurus, Molly and I might still be tap-dancing around our feelings for each other."

John looked thoughtful. "Mary told me you had romantic feelings for one another, but she wouldn't tell me why she thought so and I didn't see any evidence of it so I thought she was just trying to play matchmaker, especially when she insisted we should ask both of you to be godparents for Rosie." Then he asked, with a sudden note of suspicion in his voice, "Did she know about Victoria?"

This time Molly supplied the answer. "After Sherlock was shot, I was visiting him with Victoria, and Mary happened to come in when Victoria was calling him daddy. We convinced her not to say anything to you about it. I'm sorry, John. Sherlock was worried about the whole Magnussen thing and just didn't want to put us in any kind of danger. Besides, you were already dealing with the fact that Mary had a secret past."

"So, you know about that too?" John pursed his lips in annoyance.

Sherlock answered that one. "I didn't say a word about it until Mary gave me permission to divulge the information to Molly."

"So, let me get this straight. The two of you have been having this on-again off-again relationship for years now but neither of you would admit you loved one another? Pardon me for saying so, but you're both idiots."

Molly felt the sting of John's words. She deserved it, and he was completely correct.

"Well, there was just never a right time for us to get our feelings out in the open," Sherlock responded, trying rather poorly to defend his and Molly's actions.

"Apparently you had enough time to conceive another child, though," remarked John dryly with an arched eyebrow.

Sherlock ran a hand through his hair. "It isn't as if we've been shagging every moment we can. In fact, things have been kind of tense between us these last couple of months." Then he looked at Molly and smiled with such tenderness in his expression that she drew in a breath. "Of course, that's all sorted out now."

"Apparently so," observed John, looking unsmilingly from one to the other.

"So, will you forgive us, John?" questioned Sherlock hopefully.

John folded his arms. "You betrayed me, both of you. I'm not sure I want to."

Suddenly Molly felt angry. She had never had the opportunity to confront John about what he had done to Sherlock during the Culverton Smith case so now seemed the right time to bring up the subject. "Well, perhaps Sherlock should be the one who needs to forgive _you_ , John," she said tartly. "What you did to him in the hospital was reprehensible. He was high, killing himself with drugs just because _your_ wife instructed him to go to hell so that you would save him!" She felt her anger rising, but tried to control it because she didn't want to awaken Victoria. "You blamed Sherlock for Mary's death when she was the one who jumped in front of the bullet to save him. He didn't ask her to do that. Furthermore," here her eyes narrowed, "she shot and almost killed Sherlock herself a few months earlier! So if you are going to start acting all holier-than-thou about our actions, perhaps you need to take the log out of your own eye before looking at the speck in ours!" She knew John probably wasn't familiar with the scripture that addressed condemnation, but she didn't care. It was time John learned a few home truths about his own past behaviour.

She continued, placing a hand on Sherlock's knee. "And need I remind you of your violent behaviour towards Sherlock when he returned to London after his two year absence? He had just been tortured in Serbia and you felt it necessary to give him a split lip and bloody nose because he didn't tell you he was alive? How _dare_ you act as if you are some paragon of virtue! My God, John, have you ever seen the scars on Sherlock's back from the time he was away? He faked his death to save you, Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade from being killed by Moriarty's men! I bet he didn't tell you that though because he's too bloody noble to show how self-sacrificing he truly is!" Angry tears were spilling from her eyes at this point.

Sherlock rested a hand on her shoulder, "Calm down, love, That's all in the past. John had a right to be upset with me for keeping him in the dark."

Molly turned on him fiercely. "Angry, yes, violent, no! You've never deserved his wrath in the way he has meted it out to you."

She was still looking at Sherlock when John said, in a voice laced with regret. "You're right, Molly. I've been the worst sort of friend to Sherlock, and he has never walked away from me or fought back."

Molly turned back to look at John to see he was standing and blinking back tears of his own. "Sherlock, I'm sorry. I've never apologised to you for my own actions. I've hurt you physically on more than one occasion and you just stood there and took it. You've been a better friend to me than I've ever been to you." He then looked at Molly. "Thank you for making me see what an arse I've been. You're right, I can hardly withhold my forgiveness for you not telling me about your relationship when I've done so much worse. Can you forgive me too? Both of you?" He looked from one to the other.

And suddenly, they were locked together in a three-way embrace, as cleansing tears dispelled years of hurt and anger for various sins. Words of apology and forgiveness so long overdue brought a lightness of heart and a deeper understanding of friendship. Molly felt the love of God surrounding them in a way she knew the men could not understand, but hoped they would one day come to know on a much deeper level. She herself felt fresh, as if festering wounds she didn't know she had possessed in regard to long-held-in anger about John's behaviour towards Sherlock had been cut open and cleansed properly so they could heal.

When they finally let go of one another, wiping tears from faces and smiling, Sherlock asked his best friend, "Now that all that is settled, does that mean you'll be my best man?"

John chuckled. "Most definitely, my friend. I would not miss it for the world. You have a fine woman who I can see loves you passionately and stands up for you. Who could ask for more than that?" He smiled at Molly who gave him an answering one.

"We can talk more soon," promised Sherlock, "but for now, I'd like to spend some time with my fiancée, alone."

"I understand," said John. He looked at Molly. "I always wondered why Victoria never seemed to be around when I was. I hope you will allow me to get to know her better in the future."

"Of course you can," agreed Molly. "I'm sure she and Rosie will become good friends. She's already fascinated with her."

As soon as John had taken his leave, Sherlock turned to Molly and said, "Well, my little avenging angel, that was quite the speech you made in my defence."

"I didn't even realise until that point how much I have resented John for what he has done to you," admitted Molly. "It just seemed to flood out of me when he was acting as if he wouldn't forgive us for not telling him about our relationship. It just seemed so unfair after all he has done himself to hurt you." She reached up to stroke Sherlock's cheek. "But everything is in the open now and I feel like it's a new beginning for all of us."

Sherlock pulled her close and she melted into him, as if they were two halves of a whole, and their lips connected in a kiss that overwhelmed her with its intensity and thoroughness. Her heart was so full of love and their faces were flushed when Sherlock finally moved his head back to say, "My God, Molly, do you have any idea how much I love you?"

Molly buried her head against his chest, feeling his accelerated heartbeat, knowing hers was pounding also. There was no mistaking his body's physical reaction when they had been pressed so close together, but it was so much more than physical desire, and she understood now she could never have been truly satisfied without receiving Sherlock's heart as well as his body.

It was some moments before she was able to look back up at his face and form a response. "If it is half as much as I love you, it's more than I ever dreamed possible."

"I wonder how my brother is going to react when I tell him I completely disagree with his stance on caring not being an advantage. It's the best advantage possible because you don't have to face things alon." He raised his hand to brush his thumb along her cheek. "Loving you makes me feel as if I could conquer the world."

"Better not let Mycroft hear you say that. He'd think you've lost your mind," teased Molly.

Sherlock smirked. "Not my mind, just my heart, Molly."

"Well, that's okay then, Mr. Holmes, because you've owned mine for a long time, so we're even."

"Is that so, soon-to-be Mrs. Holmes?" His lips met hers again briefly and then he drew back and his expression changed suddenly to one that seemed almost - was it - nervous? "Molly, when you were talking to John about Mrs. Hudson's delight in there being a child to carry on my family name, it reminded me of something. Would you be agreeable to having Victoria's surname officially changed to Holmes once we are married?"

Molly gave him a look of surprise. "How could you think otherwise, Sherlock? I would be proud to have her bear your name, just as I will be proud to bear your name as well."

Sherlock gave a slight sigh of relief. "Well, I didn't want to just presume. Besides, I know many women these days prefer to use their maiden name or even a combination of both names."

Molly's lips quirked. "Guess I'm old-fashioned then."

Sherlock took her hand. "Well, we will take care of changing her name as soon as we are officially married. For now though," here his eyes twinkled a little and he gave her a roguish smile, "how long does Victoria normally sleep for? I'm assuming she's taking a nap?"

Molly nodded. "She usually sleeps around two hours."

"Good," he said pulling her into his arms properly again. "We have a lot of catching up to do." Then he was kissing her, fiercely, demandingly. Molly returned his caress with all the passion she felt within her. But then she pulled back, remembering her silent promise to God and her desire to do His will.

"Sherlock?" she asked hesitantly.

His eyes were glazed with desire, but he looked at her searchingly. "What is it, love?"

"You know about my beliefs, right?"

Sherlock furrowed his brow. "Well, you've talked about them quite a lot, so yes. I promise I will try and respect them. I'll even go to church if that's what you want."

"That would be lovely, and I appreciate it, but there's something else I want to talk to you about." She bit her lip, suddenly unsure about how he would react.

He dropped his hands from where they had been at her waist. "Go on."

"You know how I distanced myself from you after that night when I stayed with you at Baker Street?"

"Well yes, I found it confusing, but I understand, sweetheart. I had made so many mistakes and gone back and forth so much, it's no wonder you were uncertain about the future of our relationship. You did say I needed to earn your trust back too."

She released her arms from where they had been loosely clasped around his neck and reached down to take his right hand in her left, linking her fingers with his. "I did some soul-searching on that Sunday after church, before I came back to Baker Street, Sherlock. I really felt I had been running away from God, doing my own thing, and I wanted to make things right. I...also knew that I couldn't be with you again, intimately I mean." She blushed slightly, then continued. "I knew that if things were meant to be for us, it would have to include the blessing of God and a wedding ring."

Sherlock nodded. "I understand, and of course I don't blame you. I did tell you my endgame was marriage. I love you, Molly, I always have, and I want the world to know of our commitment." His eyes searched hers and she dropped her gaze. "There's more to it than that, isn't there?" he asked shrewdly.

Molly burrowed her head into his chest as she had done earlier and mumbled the next words. "I feel like God is telling me to wait until we are married before we make love again."

She felt Sherlock release their linked hands and was worried for a moment that he was angry. But then he moved her slightly backwards with one hand on her shoulder while his other reached for her chin and tilted it upwards. "Molly, my darling, I burn for you, I ache to be with you again, but we have the rest of our lives to be together. This is obviously something you feel strongly about, so I can wait." His lips found hers and this time they were gentle, caressing, and she sighed with relief into his mouth, reassured by his words. He didn't prolong the kiss, obviously feeling how easy it would be to pass the point of no return and end up taking things to the bedroom after all.

"Do you want me to return to Baker Street for now?" he asked, and she appreciated his thoughtfulness in wanting to follow her lead.

Molly thought a moment. Baker Street was still practically uninhabitable, even if Sherlock's bedroom had been untouched. Finally she shook her head. "No, you can stay here. I don't want Victoria to get confused again, especially when we informed her we are going to be a family. She needs to see you are around at night as well as during the day and that we are together." She flashed him a little smile. "I'll even let you share the bed - as long as you promise not to try to seduce me."

Sherlock chuckled. "I'm sure I'll end up taking a cold shower if I'm not careful, so I will attempt to restrain myself, as long as you permit me to at least hold you?" He quirked an enquiring brow.

Molly smiled at that. "Deal."

"So, what are we going to do while we wait for Victoria to wake, if we are going to behave ourselves?" asked Sherlock, taking her hand again and playing with her engagement ring.

Molly giggled. "I guess we could research how quickly we can be married. I don't think I'll make you wait as long as Tom."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I should hope not. Let's do it. Let's see who can find out the information first." He dropped her hand and pulled out his phone.

This time it was Molly's turn to roll her eyes. "Must everything be a game with you?"

"Yep," he replied promptly, popping his _p_ , and Molly hurriedly retrieved her own phone from her handbag.

In the end they both found the information together. Sherlock looked at her gloomily. "We have to give twenty-eight day's notice? God, I'm going to be taking so many cold showers I'll be freezing to death by the end of it."

Molly chewed on her lower lip. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. Maybe we should sleep separately tonight after all. I don't want to be the cause of any discomfort."

Sherlock put down his phone and slid his arm around her, squeezing her shoulders gently. "You're worth it, baby. I'm a grown man. Anyway, I'm just teasing. I've endured many cold showers in the past when on missions where hot water wasn't readily available. I'll survive."

"If you say so," Molly murmured, dropping her own phone and snuggling against him.

"Just wear lots of baggy clothes and don't give me too many sexy looks," he instructed, brushing a kiss to her temple and Molly laughed.

"I'll do my best."

They sat there quietly until they heard Victoria calling, "Mummy? Daddy?"

Together, Sherlock and Molly walked to the second bedroom to retrieve their daughter.

They spent the rest of the day together, spending time with their daughter as the family Molly knew was the way things would be in the future.

At one point Molly was able to have Victoria feel the movement in her abdomen.

"That's my baby sister," the toddler proclaimed proudly. Then she added, much to Sherlock's amusement and Molly's embarrassment, "Your belly is fat, Mummy."

Sherlock tousled his daughter's hair. "That's because the baby is growing inside Mummy."

"Is she coming tomowow?" lisped Victoria, eyes round with curiosity.

Sherlock and Molly both chuckled. Victoria was too young to understand the concept of months, so Molly just said, "It will be awhile yet. Mummy's tummy needs to grow about this much more." She made a circle with her hands to indicate the approximate future girth of her abdomen.

Victoria's eyes grew wide with astonishment. "Like an el-funt?"

Sherlock picked Victoria up and twirled her in the air, then set her down as she giggled delightedly. "Not quite an elephant, sweetheart, but close."

At Molly's glare he leaned in close and kissed her cheek. "You know I'm just teasing, love. I look forward to seeing your belly grow, even if it does mean we will need to make certain, er, adjustments in the bedroom to accommodate your expanding girth," he told her softly with a wicked smile.

Molly blushed at the thought. That would indeed be interesting to experience different positions. _But not until after we're married,_ she thought again firmly.

And when they retired to bed, Molly put on a pair of cotton pyjamas, keeping her goodnight kiss to Sherlock brief. "Goodnight, Sherlock. I love you," she whispered in the darkness, feeling his body cocoon hers from behind.

"Goodnight, sweetheart," he responded, and she felt his arm tighten slightly about her as he kissed her hair.

She gave a contented sigh an drifted off.

* * *

 **Author's note:** I hope you enjoyed the scene with John. Originally I did not write in anything about what he himself has done to Sherlock but I think my re-write turned out well and that Molly was justified in confronting him about his behaviour as well towards Sherlock in the past. Have you ever been bothered by the way John has treated Sherlock and never apologizes in the show? It bothered me a lot so I really enjoyed showing a proper apology.

I also originally ended the dream on this chapter with a nice love scene between Sherlock and Molly. When I decided to revise my story to add a more spiritual flavour, I decided that because there was to be no love scene at the end of this chapter after all, I'd have to write a couple of extra chapters (and of course address the reactions of other characters). So, I hope you like the changes and Molly's wish to refrain from resuming their sexual intimacy until they are married. It's an important element of her journey back towards God and doing obedient to what she believes is right.


	45. Not Always the Smart One

The following day, Sherlock slipped out of bed and Molly's warm embrace early and called Bart's on her behalf to let Mike know she had been in hospital and would be taking the day off. Of course, Mike had been concerned. He was the only one who knew Molly was pregnant, as she had required time off for her ultrasound scans.

Mike was very understanding and said she could take the following day off as well if needed, that things were quiet at the hospital for now. Being a tactful man, he did not ask any questions as to why Sherlock was the one to call about her condition. The truth would come out soon enough anyway, Sherlock reflected as he hung up the phone.

He heard movement in the second bedroom and realised Victoria was awake. Sherlock opened the door to find his daughter sitting up in her bed. She immediately scrambled out of it and ran to hug him. "Daddy, you're still here!"

He kissed the top of her head and lifted her up into his arms. "Of course I am, sweetheart. Daddy is always going to be with you from now on," he promised, and his daughter beamed.

He got her dressed and helped her climb onto her chair at the table, then fed her breakfast, even as Molly hurried into the kitchen, looking somewhat distressed. "I forgot to set my alarm and now I'm going to be late for work," she said, biting her lip.

"All taken care of," he assured her. "I called Bart's and told Mike you have been in hospital and he said to take today and tomorrow off too if you need it."

Molly smiled with relief, walking over to him and reaching her arms up to pull him down to her level, and she kissed him sweetly. "Thank you, Sherlock. I must admit, I'm still rather fatigued."

"You had better get used to that," he warned playfully, in a voice too low for Victoria to overhear. "Once we are married I intend to keep you up very late every night." He smirked at the rosy bloom that appeared on Molly's cheeks at that.

While Sherlock got coffee and toast ready for them, Molly called Mrs. Hudson to let her know she would not be needed for babysitting that day.

Molly stood beside Sherlock and held the phone away from her ear so he could also hear what was going on. "Are you sure, dear?" questioned the elderly woman. "I would think you and Sherlock have a lot of...uh..catching up to do. Having a child underfoot might make that rather difficult."

Sherlock was buttering the toast and he looked up with a wry smile at that. He supposed he couldn't blame Mrs. Hudson for thinking he and Molly would be wanting to enjoy some private time. Obviously she had witnessed their desire to be together on several occasions. She wasn't to know Molly had put the brakes on.

Molly was obviously too embarrassed though to admit the truth of the matter to the landlady. Undoubtedly Mrs. Hudson would probably think it very odd that sex was off the table for now when it had not been before. He still felt a little disappointed about that, but after everything he'd put Molly through, respecting her wishes was the least he could do. It was only for a little while anyway.

"Er no, that's okay. Sherlock and I have the rest of our lives to play...um...catch up. We are going to spend some quality time as a family together today."

"Well, that does sound nice. Just remember, if you change your mind, I'm available," responded Mrs. Hudson.

"Thank you. I'll remember that," said Molly. "Bye for now."

She rang off and the couple sat down to eat.

After breakfast, Sherlock and Molly spent some time with Victoria, entertaining her together until it was time for him to leave for Mycroft's office.

He kissed Victoria, who was watching a cartoon on television, goodbye, then walked with Molly to the front door. "Wish me luck."

Molly smiled at him. "I don't believe in luck. I believe in God's guidance and that He will give you the right words to say."

"I just know my brother is going to tell me he already knew everything anyway. He _is_ the British Government, after all. Eyes and ears everywhere."

Molly pursed her lips and crossed her arms. "Mycroft is _not_ God. Only God is omnipotent, omniscient and omnipresent."

Sherlock looked at her quizzically. "Care to elaborate on those terms?"

Molly grinned. "Of course. Only God is all-powerful, all-knowing and present everywhere at all times."

Sherlock huffed out a short laugh. "My brother may not be God, but sometimes he does seem to possess all those qualities, at least as far as us lesser mortals are concerned."

Molly tossed her head. "Believe me, when you really learn about the one true God, you'll see the difference between perception and truth."

Oh yes, Sherlock had a definite feeling he was going to learn a lot more about God and Molly's faith in the future, and if he was being honest with himself, he was looking forward to it. Her faith had carried her this far, believing in him through everything and they were finally together once and for all. He knew God had had a hand in it and was finally open to the idea that Molly might know some very important things about life of which he had not previously been aware.

He tilted Molly's chin upwards and offered her a sweet parting kiss that left them both longing for more. They were definitely going to have to get a move on with setting a wedding date as soon as he returned.

Sherlock arrived at Mycroft's office just before ten o'clock and went to meet up with his brother. He entered the rather unremarkable, below street-level office without bothering to knock and looked at his brother who was seated at his desk with his chin cupped in his hands.

Mycroft straightened and looked at him. "Hello, brother mine."

"Figuring out what you're going to say to our parents?" enquired Sherlock with a slight twist to his lips.

Mycroft heaved a sigh. "It will not be an easy conversation, I'm certain of that."

"Well, I would be inclined to agree with that supposition. Anyway, I should probably tell you my news which I'm sure you'll find quite surprising." He sat down casually in the chair across from Mycroft.

"If it is to inform me that you and your pathologist are now in a relationship, I have already deduced that for myself. Furthermore, I realise I have been rather remiss in not paying closer attention to you and your Doctor Hooper recently. I presume the baby is yours?"

Sherlock's brows shot up in astonishment. "How did you-" he began and Mycroft interrupted him.

"I'm the smart one for a reason, Sherlock. I was a witness to your conversation during the phone call, remember? It was transparently clear by the end of your conversation that the two of you have a connection that goes far beyond friendship, despite your feeble attempts to make light of it by saying you were 'friends'. In addition, I have heard reports of comings and goings from your flat involving Doctor Hooper which initially I thought to just be visits for the purpose of her delivering various body parts for your experiments. I was also not blind to the fact that Miss-"a glare from Sherlock, "I mean _Doctor_ Hooper is with child, as was clearly evident to me from the video footage of that phone call. The probability of her carrying another man's child when her feelings for you are so profound leads me to conclude that you are the father." Mycroft finished speaking with a smug smile and folded his arms.

"Very well, Mycroft, I'll concede you are correct on that score. What else do you think you know about Molly and me, and how our relationship has progressed?" He quirked an eyebrow at his brother. Did Mycroft even suspect that Sherlock was the father of Molly's first child?

"Well, I presume the two of you developed a connection when you were recuperating at her flat after you were shot. Perhaps you developed an affection for her child as well and the idea of happy families and fatherhood was sparked within you," responded Mycroft confidently.

This time it was Sherlock who smirked at his brother. "Not always the smart one, after all," he commented. It was rather nice to know that Mycroft didn't have all the answers. _Not all-knowing then. Score one for God._

Mycroft narrowed his eyes. "Why? What do you mean by that?"

Sherlock leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desk, steepling his fingers. "Molly's first child, Victoria, is my daughter," he stated proudly, no longer ashamed to admit the truth to his brother.

Mycroft's mouth opened and closed like one of the goldfish he liked to say he was surrounded by. Finally he uttered in a bemused tone, "But that would mean you and she have been involved since-" Here he stopped and Sherlock realised he was mentally calculating Victoria's age. Then his brows drew together as he said thoughtfully, "While you were staying with me, after your funeral, I recall there was a day you left unexpectedly. You told me afterwards you had just wished to walk the streets of the city incognito one last time. I presume you did more than walk the streets. You hit the _sheets_ instead, am I correct?" His eyes narrowed. "And I suppose you were already sleeping with her when you stayed at her flat?"

Sherlock flushed slightly, deciding it was not necessary to dignify the impertinent questions with a direct answer. "Molly and I have a history that dates back to our uni days. We knew one another briefly during her first year and my last one - not romantically, but we were becoming friends." He leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. "That was, until I ruined it by my inability to deal with emotions."

Mycroft rubbed his chin. "I had no idea, Sherlock. I'm sorry. It appears I have made many errors with you over the years." His eyes dropped then for a few moments before he raised them again to look into Sherlock's. His words were ones Sherlock would never have expected to hear. "I...failed you." For the first time, Sherlock heard a note of real sorrow in his brother's voice.

"You did your best, Mycroft," he told his brother without rancour. He could afford to be magnanimous. He had the love of his life, a daughter and another on the way.

"Well, perhaps if you reveal your happy news to Mummy and Daddy it might serve to temper what I am certain will be a good deal of anger about the fact that I kept the truth about Eurus's continued existence from them." Mycroft gave a wry smile.

Sherlock folded his arms. "Actually, they are already aware of the situation between Molly and myself and the fact that Victoria is my daughter." At Mycroft's look of surprise, he explained further. "Our parents came to see how my recuperation was going while I was still at Molly's flat after I was shot. At that time I revealed that Victoria was my daughter, well, Mummy guessed that, actually," he amended. "Nevertheless, I told them I planned to ask Molly to marry me after I had finished with my case. I asked them to not reveal that Victoria was mine, for her own safety."

He sighed then. "You know what a disaster that turned out to be and everything that has happened since has only served to push Molly and myself apart. But during that phone call I knew I had been an idiot. Mummy was right. When I told her I was waiting for the right time to tell Molly I loved her, she said she just wanted me to be happy and also told me - ' _Sometimes you have to just reach out and grab for it with both hands_ ,' so that is what I have finally had the courage to do. No more games, no more playing with emotions. I proposed to Molly yesterday."

He gave Mycroft a defiant look, as if to dare him to impart any more words of caution about caring not being an advantage. "I love Molly, my daughter and our unborn child, and nothing on this earth is going to prevent me from marrying the woman I have loved for years as soon as possible. If it were not for the damned twenty-eight days notice requirement, I'd marry her today."

To his surprise, Mycroft leaned forward slowly, steeping his fingers beneath his chin in imitation of Sherlock's usual gesture, and gave him a benevolent smile. "In that case, I have an idea that may benefit both you and me in the upcoming uncomfortable talk with our parents. That is - if you and your pathologist are willing."

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow at his older brother. _This should be interesting,_ he thought. "Do tell."

Once Mycroft had finished his explanation, Sherlock let out a deep breath. "Of course I'm on board with this if you think you can truly make it happen, but I will have to make sure it is okay with Molly. She is my priority and I am not going to put myself ahead of her needs ever again."

Mycroft nodded. "Well, hurry up and call her. If she agrees, I will set things in motion on my end as soon as you receive her response."

Sherlock took his phone out of his pocket and placed the call. He talked to Molly briefly, receiving her assent to Mycroft's plan, then hung up. "Molly has agreed and will be here within the hour with our daughter unless you are unable to make the arrangements, in which case I shall call her back to let her know to not bother coming." He gave his brother a challenging look as Mycroft dipped his head in acknowledgment. Then he continued. "In addition, I must insist that John be present as well if this goes ahead."

Mycroft nodded. "I suppose you should call him immediately in that case."

Sherlock arched an eyebrow. "You don't want to make sure first about things on your end? It would be rather embarrassing if I had to let John know as well as Molly that you had been unsuccessful in organising things."

Mycroft leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. "I have no doubt I shall be successful. Make your call to your friend now."

Sherlock shrugged and complied. He was pleased that John agreed to come down to Mycroft's office. He would not have Rosie with him as she was already in the care of Stella and Ted for the day and he had to reschedule some of his patients, but promised to be there within the hour. This was a rather important request, after all.

For the next half an hour, Sherlock sat in the chair and listened as Mycroft placed various urgent calls to set the wheels in rapid motion. He was amazed at his brother's long reach and ability to prepare what would undoubtedly be impossible for anyone else. _Maybe not all-knowing, but pretty close to all-powerful,_ he mused to himself with an inner smile.

Finally, Mycroft looked up at him. "Everything is prepared. Once Molly arrives, John too, they will be looked after by Anthea until I call to say it is time for them to come into my office." He glanced at his watch. "Mummy and Daddy should be here momentarily as well. Thank you for agreeing to this. I do hope it will serve to sufficiently distract our parents and to mitigate what I know will be their anger at me."

Sherlock noted that Mycroft's face looked rather pale. His voice was gentle as he said, "I hope so too, and to be honest, I will be glad to just get this over with and start my new life with Molly and our children."

Mycroft's intercom buzzed at that moment and Anthea's voice could be heard. "Your parents are here, Mr. Holmes. Should I send them down?"

Mycroft gave Sherlock a rather pained look and responded. "Yes, Anthea. Thank you."

Sherlock rose from the chair on which he had been seated and walked to stand beside the door so he would be out of the way. He would be there to provide moral support for his brother.

As Sherlock and Mycroft expected, a very tense situation ensued once the Holmes parents entered and stood in front of Mycroft's desk.

What Sherlock didn't expect was when his mother turned to him and pleaded, "Sherlock? Well? You were always the grown-up. What do we do now?" It was rather ironic his mother would turn to him for advice, when he knew her words about him always being the grown-up were completely untrue. They were words said in anger, to hurt Mycroft as she herself felt hurt by the situation, and his heart ached for his parents.

He made the suggestion that they all go to Sherrinford soon and he would play his violin in an attempt to communicate with Eurus. His parents were somewhat mollified by this, but now it was time to distract them further. He cleared his throat.

"Mummy, Daddy, I also have some news of my own which I hope will be welcome."

Violet Holmes raised her troubled eyes to his. "I could certainly use some good news at this point," she said, as her husband placed a gentle arm around her shoulders.

Sherlock nodded at Mycroft who picked up his phone and spoke to Anthea. "Have our guests arrived yet?" He paused for a moment, listening to her response, then said, "Yes, bring them all down now."

"Well?" demanded Mrs. Holmes, with an enquiring look at both of her sons.

"All shall be explained as soon as our guests arrive," said Mycroft with an appeasing smile.

Sherlock moved away from the door to stand beside his parents and shortly afterwards there was a knock on the door.

"Enter," said Mycroft and the door opened to display Anthea who ushered in three adults - Molly, who was holding Victoria, John, and the Archbishop of Canterbury, before leaving the room quietly and closing the door behind her.

Sherlock looked at his mother whose mouth had opened in astonishment and he hastened to explain. "Mummy, Molly has agreed to marry me and Mycroft has enlisted the immediate services of the Archbishop of Canterbury to perform the service right here, right now."

Sherlock walked to Molly who was wearing a cream silk blouse and peasant skirt of the same colour with flowers printed on it. The elastic of the waistband was low beneath her belly and for the first time, there was no disguising her pregnancy. He greeted her with a kiss and took Victoria from her.

Ignoring John and the formidable presence of the robed Archbishop, Sherlock carried Victoria over to her grandparents. "Are you happy to see Grandma and Grandpa?" he asked the toddler.

Victoria nodded. "Gwamma, Gwampa!" she said enthusiastically.

Violet Holmes's face transformed from one of confusion to one of delight as she took the little girl from Sherlock and held her close. "Grandma is always happy to see you, darling. Have you been a good girl?"

Victoria nodded and put her hands around her grandmother's neck. "Yes, Gwamma."

William Holmes had been looking at Molly and commented, "It appears we have another grandchild on the way, do we not?"

Molly blushed and Sherlock walked back to her to take her hand. "Indeed, that is so, so I suggest we proceed with the ceremony as soon as possible."

John nudged Sherlock. "A little more notice would have been nice, mate. However, It appears your brother hasn't forgotten anything and Anthea just gave me two wedding bands to hold for you."

Sherlock smiled at his friend. "Mycroft is nothing if not prepared for all contingencies. Thanks for rearranging your schedule to accommodate me."

"Well, it would have been rather rude of me to back out of being your best man when I had already accepted the honour. I'm just a little disappointed I won't have the opportunity to make fun of you during my best man speech at your wedding reception. I was already planning to talk about your man-child tendencies, your boorish behaviour to people in the past, your-"

Sherlock was rather relieved when the Archbishop cleared his throat, preventing John from elaborating further. "Well, I am rather busy today, so if we could assemble so I may begin the service?"

"Of course, Justin," responded Mycroft agreeably. "I do very much appreciate you coming at such short notice."

The Archbishop stood at one side of the room with his prayerbook in his hands. Sherlock and Molly went to stand in front of him, holding hands and facing one another, while everyone else stood a few feet behind, with Victoria still clinging to her grandmother's neck, and the marriage service began.

* * *

 **Author's note:** Well now, did I surprise you? I mean really, it would take Mycroft to get special dispensation to waive that pesky 28 days notice period. If it were even possible I feel there would be no more likely candidate for being able to perform this precipitate ceremony than the Archbishop of Canterbury. If this surprises you, you will see it addressed by Molly in the "real" world as to why Sherlock would dream about that rather important man.

Were you amused at the way Mycroft didn't figure it all out? Are you familiar with the terms omnipotent, omniscient and omnipresent?

Congratulations to **Aslan's Princess** , **mamabear04** and **comp1mom** for their usual quite good guesses on reactions by John and Mycroft to Sherlock's news. Love you guys for venturing guesses and it definitely shows you know my writing style very well! Your responses and those of my other wonderful readers/reviewers make it a joy for me to continue writing for this couple.

By the way, readers, if you like the Christian flavour of my stories, please head over to Aslan's Princess's lovely new Kingdom Hearts/Sherlock crossover. I encourage you to read it and leave feedback for her as well. Nothing says "thank you for your hard work" better than a nice review. You can find her story at the top of my favourites list on my profile or look up her name.

So...the end draws near for the dream, one final chapter before the two chapter real-world conclusion. Will you miss this story? I know I will.


	46. A New Beginning

When Sherlock had left Molly that morning, the last thing she had expected was to receive a phone call where he asked if she would be agreeable to marry him immediately.

 **Earlier that morning**

Following Sherlock's call explaining Mycroft's request, Molly did not hesitate. She had waited so long to be with Sherlock, had wanted to be married to him for so long, there was no question that she would be happy to forgo all the formalities in order to just become Mrs. Sherlock Holmes as soon as possible.

As soon as she hung up the phone, she turned to her daughter. "Guess what, sweetheart? Daddy and I are getting married today and we will truly be a family!"

Victoria clapped her hands excitedly. "And Daddy will live with us?" she enquired.

"Yes, sweetheart. Daddy will live with us for now. But when his home is all fixed up, we will live there with him, near Nanny Hudders. How does that sound?"

"Forwever? You pwomise?" was her daughter's response.

Molly knelt down and swung her daughter into her arms, twirling her around before setting her down, much as Sherlock had done the night before. "I promise, darling. And now Mummy has to go and get ready so she looks pretty for Daddy." Molly took her daughter's hand. "Come on, you can watch Mummy get ready and then I will get you a pretty dress to wear as well."

Molly went into her bedroom and searched through her wardrobe. She didn't have a lot of fancy clothes and most of her nicer ones would no longer fit, but she did have a cream silk blouse which had a skirt with an elasticized waistband that she would be able to place just beneath her expanding belly. The blouse was long enough she could tuck it in. She was going to look obviously pregnant, but that didn't matter anymore. She was about to become a married woman, and this time the new baby would bear Sherlock's surname from the start.

Molly hummed as she got dressed then applied some make up, after which she found a pretty summer dress for Victoria and helped her into it. They were ready. "Grandma and Grandpa will be there too. Isn't that exciting?" Molly asked her daughter.

Victoria nodded. "Gwamma and Gwampa give me pwesents."

"That's right," agreed Molly, thinking it was rather amusing that Victoria had immediately thought about the presents she had received from her grandparents. "You are also going to meet Daddy's brother today. He is your Uncle Mycroft."

"Unca Myc?"

Molly smiled at her daughter. "Close enough."

Molly took a taxi to Mycroft's office building with her daughter, and she was quite surprised to see John arriving at the same time.

They walked to the entrance of the building together. "I must say, now that Sherlock has made up his mind about you, he isn't wasting any time," remarked John by way of greeting, ruffling Victoria's hair.

Molly giggled. "Well, I don't think this would be possible without Mycroft's help."

John shook his head. "Sherlock told me soon after we met that his brother _was_ the British Government. Apparently he was not exaggerating."

Almost as soon as they entered the building, Mycroft's assistant, Anthea, was there to greet them and show them to a waiting room. "I will be back for you once Mr. Holmes tells me he's ready." She looked at Molly. "Congratulations, by the way."

Molly didn't know if the woman was referring to her pregnancy or upcoming nuptials, so she just smiled, keeping hold of Victoria's hand. "Thank you."

Anthea then handed John two gold wedding bands. "As best man, you will be needing these," she send. "Just as well there's a jewellery shop just down the street. I hope I got the sizes right."

After she left the room, John held out the smaller ring. "Want to give it a try?"

Molly slid the ring onto her finger with a bit of difficulty. It was definitely the right size, but the slight swelling of her fingers made it a little tighter than it would have been otherwise. She pulled the ring off and handed it back to John.

As they waited to be summoned, Molly sat Victoria on her lap and pulled out a picture book to read to her while John took out his phone and presumably checked his email or played games on it.

A few minutes later another, older man was shown into the waiting room. Molly recognised him immediately in his ceremonial robes. It was the Archbishop of Canterbury. She wondered briefly if she should curtsey to such an exalted figure. Then she laughed silently to herself. It wasn't as if he was royalty. He just presided over the royal weddings. She drew in her breath suddenly. She was to be married by the man who officiated at royal weddings. That was rather unnerving.

"Good morning," he said pleasantly, looking down at where she was seated. "I believe you are the bride-to-be for whom I am officiating the wedding ceremony this morning?"

Molly smiled shyly at him. "That would be me. It's an honour to meet you. I can't believe you will be conducting the ceremony." She was completely awestruck that Mycroft could have this kind of authority to enlist the help of such an important man. _British Government indeed!_ she thought to herself.

The regal looking gentleman smiled. "Mycroft Holmes and I have known each other for many years. It is rather fortunate I had no other pressing engagements this morning, although I will need to leave as soon as the ceremony is over." He stooped down to speak to Victoria. "And who might you be, young lady?"

Molly felt a little embarrassed being in the presence of such an exalted member of the clergy, with one child and another on the way while still unwed. But then she thought, that was about to be rectified, and the man did not show any sign of condemnation in his manner.

"This is my daughter Victoria." Then she added hastily, so that the Archbishop would know she was marrying the father of her child. "Sherlock's and mine."

He grasped Victorias hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Victoria." Then he stood and addressed John. "And you are?"

John extended his hand. "I am Sherlock Holmes's best friend and his best man."

"Oh, of course. I should have known. I've read your blog," responded the archbishop and John beamed. Molly knew John was pleased because most people erroneously assumed Sherlock was the one who wrote the blog.

Anthea returned at that moment. "Everything's ready and I am to show you downstairs now," she told the little group, leading the way to Mycroft's office.

\Molly's heart was beating rapidly with anticipation. She still couldn't quite believe she and Sherlock were about to be married. As they entered the office, she felt nervous, but all her nerves faded away when she saw the way Sherlock's eyes lit up as he saw her. The smile he gave her was so unashamedly genuine and adoring that she could have melted into a puddle at his feet. The deep dimples in his cheeks only appeared when he was smiling widely as he was on this occasion.

Now Molly stood looking into the intense blue-green gaze of the man she had always loved as the wedding ceremony began. She felt the warmth and strength of his hands and hers trembled slightly. He squeezed them reassuringly and gave her a tender smile.

The archbishop dispensed with the usual formalities of the ceremony, beginning with only a prayer and then going straight to the vows.

Molly blinked back tears as Sherlock repeated the vows that would unite them for life in a voice that was deep and rich with emotion, and she then did the same.

The exchange of wedding rings was made and the archbishop finished with "Those whom God has joined together, let no one put asunder."

He closed his prayer book and Sherlock looked at him expectantly. Molly knew they would have to sign the documents to make the ceremony legal, but Sherlock seemed to be waiting for something else. She understood when he finally burst out with, "Aren't you going to say 'You may kiss the bride.'?"

"By all means, go ahead," assented the man with a smile as Molly laughed through her tears and she heard Mrs. Holmes, now her mother-in-law, give a little sob.

Sherlock pulled Molly into his arms and whispered, "I love you," before giving her a lingering kiss.

And then they were signing the papers, being assured that all the other technicalities would be taken care of, and accepting the congratulations of the family and John.

"Welcome to the family, dear," said Violet Holmes, offering Molly a hug after she passed Victoria over to her grandfather.

"Thank you," murmured Molly. She glanced at the wedding band now adorning her finger next to the engagement ring.

The Archbishop took his leave and then Mrs. Holmes looked at Sherlock who had come to stand beside Molly with his arm draped over her shoulder. "As this is your wedding night, how would you feel if your father and I took care of our granddaughter this evening, perhaps even for a few days if you wish to take a short honeymoon?" she suggested somewhat hesitantly.

Sherlock looked at Molly, then back at his mother. "That would be up to my wife to decide," he said, and Molly couldn't help thrilling at hearing him refer to her as his wife.

As if enlisting her granddaughter's support, Violet looked to where she was being held by William Holmes. "Victoria, darling, would you like to spend a few days with Grandma and Grandpa? We could go shopping and buy you some new clothes and maybe another necklace."

Victoria clapped her hands "Pwesents!"

Molly bit her lip. "I don't know. I should be back at work tomorrow."

"You need not be concerned about that," remarked Mycroft gruffly. "I can explain the situation to your supervisor. In fact, I'll call him right now."

Molly still hesitated, but Victoria's pleas of "Please, Mummy, wanna go with Gwamma," and the expression in Sherlock's eyes, indicating how much he'd like to be alone with her, decided her.

"Alright," she said finally, "but only if Mike can spare me for a few days."

Mycroft placed the call to the hospital and was soon connected to Mike. Molly listened intently to Mycroft's side of the conversation.

"Hello, Stamford, this is Mycroft Holmes. I am calling on behalf of Doctor Molly Hooper, or rather Holmes, as she has just married my brother, Sherlock."

A few moments later Mycroft frowned and said, "No, this is not some sort of prank call, I do not make jokes. My brother and his new wife require a few days to enjoy a honeymoon." Another pause and frown, "Yes, I will put her on the phone."

Mycroft held out the phone to Molly who took it and spoke into the receiver. Mike's first question was to ask if she was feeling better. "Much better, thank you," she responded, glancing at Sherlock. His eyes were now fixed on hers.

"So, you and Sherlock then? I kind of suspected it when he called this morning," remarked Mike.

Molly grinned, her eyes straying downwards to her wedding band again. "Yes, me and Sherlock. We were just married by the Archbishop of Canterbury."

She couldn't keep the enthusiasm from her voice. Really, it was an immense honour to have been married by the head of the Anglican Church. She guessed that meant Sherlock's parents were Anglican.

"Wow," said Mike, obviously impressed as well. "Well, feel free to take the rest of the week off and next week too. You are my best worker and we'll miss you, but you deserve some proper time off. Tell Sherlock congratulations, he's a lucky man."

"I'll tell him," promised Molly. "Thanks, Mike."

She handed the receiver back to Mycroft who hung up the phone, then she smirked at her new husband. "Mike said congratulations and to tell you you're a lucky man."

"I know I am," murmured Sherlock, pressing a kiss to Molly's lips, uncaring of his audience.

"Now that is taken care of, I suggest you make your goodbyes and find yourself somewhere nice and cosy," said Mycroft dryly.

"We intend to," agreed Sherlock. He walked over to his parents to say goodbye and kissed his daughter fondly. "When Mummy and I come back in a few days, we are going to be a family," he told her, even as Molly herself had told Victoria earlier.

Molly smiled as her daughter said, "Mummy said so alweady. Wanna play with Gwamma and Gwampa now."

While Sherlock said goodbye to his friend and Mycroft, Molly made her own farewells of her new in-laws and daughter. "Are you sure you are up to dealing with a rather energetic toddler again so soon?" she questioned a bit nervously.

Violet Holmes let out a huff of laughter. "I've brought up three children of my own. One does not forget these things. Now go and make my son happy."

Sherlock was already at the door waiting for her. "I intend to," she said sincerely, unconsciously echoing Sherlock's earlier words to Mycroft, kissing her daughter farewell and saying a hasty goodbye to John and Mycroft before taking Sherlock's arm and leaving the room. She darted one last glance at Victoria who was already back in Mrs. Holmes's arms and playing with the necklace her grandmother was wearing.

Sherlock noticed her slightly anxious expression. "She'll be fine, sweetheart. She has stayed with my parents before, remember," he pointed out reasonably, taking her hand firmly. "Let's go home and you can pack a few things while I make some phone calls."

She nodded and they made their way out of the building, with a passing wave to Anthea.

As soon as they arrived at Molly's flat, Sherlock took the key from her and unlocked the door. He insisted she wait, then picked her up in his arms to carry her over the threshold.

Once he set her down inside the door, he kissed her then closed the front door while Molly walked to her bedroom.

She pulled out a small suitcase from her wardrobe and began to pack a few things. Fortunately there were still items of Sherlock's there from the time he had stayed with her after being shot, so heading to Baker Street for more clothes would not be necessary.

She could hear Sherlock on the phone in the background, obviously arranging for a place to stay that evening and over the next few days.

When the suitcase was packed, Molly walked over to her bedside table and picked up the photo frame which still held those long ago photos of Sherlock and herself. She thought about that first kiss and the day they had spent together at the funfair. It had taken them a very long time to reach this point, but she knew she wouldn't trade places with anyone else in the world.

She didn't turn as Sherlock came into the room and stood behind her, wrapping his arms around her from behind and resting his hands on her abdomen.

She leaned back into his embrace as he said, "Our first kiss. The beginning of everything for us. I'll never forget that day."

"And I will never forget the way you were deliberately running into me with your bumper car either," Molly teased and Sherlock chuckled.

"I maintain to this day that I was merely getting used to the controls." And then his voice sobered. "Those photos, they kept me going in my darkest hours, Molly. They always gave me a spark of hope for us even when we were going through our times of trials." He moved a hand to sweep her hair out of the way and pressed a kiss against her neck.

Molly let out a sigh of pleasure. "I feel the same way, Sherlock. That's why I could never get rid of the photos. I always hoped, always prayed that eventually we would be together properly." She turned in his embrace and looked up at him. "I still can't believe we're married!"

"You and I were always meant to be, Molly. I'm convinced that God made us for one another." There was a note of passion in his voice to which Molly responded, curling her arms around his neck and threading her fingers into his luxurious curls.

"Does that mean you are acknowledging I was right, when I told you after the fall that one day you would know it was God who saved you?" she enquired, looking deeply into his eyes.

His smile illuminated his features. "I'm willing to acknowledge it because no act of random circumstance could possibly have led us to this moment. There had to be some kind of divine intervention."

Satisfied, Molly drew his head down to hers, pressing her lips against his. She was not intending it to be more than a kiss, but apparently Sherlock had other ideas.

His hands dropped to her waist and he murmured against her mouth, pulling her into him so she could know what his immediate intentions were, "We are booked into the Ritz for this evening, but I do believe I'd like to start our honeymoon early."

She giggled and threw her head back, inviting him to kiss her neck, which he did. Then his hands were at the buttons of her blouse, undoing them slowly, as if this would be their first time together. After removing her blouse, he made short work of her bra and buried his face between her breasts, kissing and touching them reverently as she responded with little gasps of pleasure, using her own hands to remove his jacket and shirt.

They took their time, movements slow, savouring every exquisite sensation they were able to elicit in the other, knowing there was no rush, no urgent case loomed for Sherlock, no cry for attention from Victoria was forthcoming. It was just the two of them and they lost themselves to the dizzying heights of bliss at being together with no more secrets to keep them apart.

They were secure in the knowledge that their vows had formed an unbreakable commitment to one another. Yes, the wedding night and honeymoon lay ahead but this was the present, they were married, and Molly felt God's blessing settle over them as at last, things were as they were always meant to be.

As Sherlock's arms encircled her following their joyful union, the words of a song she had heard drifted through Molly's thoughts.

 _"Body and soul joined as one;_

 _My fears for the future are gone._

 _With you now my life is complete;_

 _You are the other half of me."_

And that said it all.

.../.../.../.../.../.../.../.../.../.../

 _ **Back in the Real World**_

A baby's soft cry woke Sherlock from his slumber. He opened his eyes to see Molly lifting their newborn into her arms.

He watched as Molly set the infant to her breast, then he whispered, "Molly, I need to tell you about the unbelievable dream I just had."

She turned her head and looked at him in surprise. "You're awake! Well, go ahead then, I have time to listen while I'm feeding Victoria."

Taking a deep breath, Sherlock began to relate the story.

* * *

 **Author's note:** And finally we have reached the end of probably the most convoluted dream in history! I hope you enjoyed the twists and turns along the way and were happy that I added in the last two chapters.

Regarding the lyrics of that song at the end, my regular readers might recognize them from _A Journey through Molly's Diary_. They are part of my original song, _In His Love,_ which I sang at my own wedding. Still planning to upload my professional recording to iTunes at some point as well as a Sherlolly video that has been done to my song. Just gotta find the time (and help from my daughter).

I know some people don't usually leave feedback until the end, but well, this is essentially the end of the story except for the "real world" final two chapters, so it would be delightful to get your thoughts on the story in general. What was your favourite part? Was it worth the time investment? If you found it to be one you've really enjoyed, please consider adding it to your favourites list using that little button. Every favourite is an additional chance for my story to be shared with others and I appreciate any reader promotion I can get!


	47. Explaining the Dream

Sherlock slid an arm behind Molly and inched closer to her and their baby. "Here's the thing. The reason I dreamed, I mean. Last night I was thinking about how tired we have been since we brought Victoria home, and I was wondering what it would have been like if I had become a father before the age of forty-one. So bear that in mind when I recount the story."

Molly turned her head to look at him with interest. "That sounds intriguing. Go on."

"Oh, and there is one other thing that kept coming up in the dream," Sherlock added, wanting to make sure he could provide a clear picture to Molly. "You know that photo of you I like so much that's on my side of the bed?"

Molly rolled her eyes. "Yeah, the one I keep saying I don't know what you find so special about?"

Sherlock pursed his lips. "Well, I love it," he declared. "You looked young and carefree. In any case, oddly enough that picture is a big part of my dream but not as it is right now."

Molly furrowed her brow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"In the dream it is a picture that also includes me, a picture we had taken together at a photo booth. I'll tell you about the photo when I get to that part but for now, I'll start at the beginning." He reached his free arm briefly over to touch his daughter's soft head as she continued to suckle contentedly.

He began to speak again. "I think your uni dream months ago must have influenced me, because it began as if we met there and I was helping you to study."

"You're not trying to tell me you dreamed I got pregnant by you while we were at uni, are you?" Molly questioned, eyes wide.

Sherlock chuckled. "I suppose you can be forgiven for thinking that, seeing as the dream started during that time period and my comment to you about wondering how things might have been different if I'd been a father earlier, but no. We just had one really lovely kiss at the top of a Ferris wheel."

Molly, who had returned her gaze to their baby, glanced up sharply. "A Ferris wheel? Was it as good as the one we shared on the Santa Monica Ferris wheel?"

"Hell, no!" At Molly's glare, he amended it to, "Heck, no. It was like this accidentally on purpose kiss I gave you. Then I went into buffering mode and you had to take me home. Afterwards you asked if I wanted friendship, which we had been cultivating, or more. I couldn't answer you and that was the end of it for us, at least until we met again at Bart's."

"Hang on a minute, how did we come to kiss on a Ferris wheel in the first place?" demanded Molly impatiently.

Sherlock took a deep breath and tried to rewind the memory of his dream a little firther. "Oh, sorry. I took you to a funfair because you were having a difficult time over your dad being ill. That's also where we had a picture taken at a photo booth." He went on to describe the dream up to that point in more detail, again ending with his inability to deal with the idea of a relationship and the ending of their friendship as a result.

"That sounds very sad," commented Molly, switching Victoria to her other breast. "In my dream you didn't remember me once we met again. Was it the same thing this time?"

"Oh, I didn't sleep with you while I was high in _my_ dream and then forget exactly what had occurred - although that would have been quite erotic," Sherlock teased. "I remembered you. But we didn't discuss our past friendship. The dream flashed through several months of us getting closer, getting to know each other again, and then it focussed on what happened when I asked for your help in faking my death."

"Did you kiss me and make love to me on the lab table like in my dream?" asked Molly, looking at him with a rather hopeful look that made him wonder if she entertained such notions for them to really do so one day. _I'll have to think about that,_ he thought with a rather wicked gleam in his eye. Location changes were never a bad thing although that would definitely be a bit risqué.

"Actually, I didn't kiss you at all, sweetheart, even though I wanted to. You invited me to discuss plans back at your flat."

"Interesting," murmured Molly. "A bit different from reality."

Sherlock smirked at that. "It was a dream, of _course_ it was different. Anyway, we made our plans and then I asked if you remembered the question you had asked me during our last conversation in our uni days."

"Where I asked if you wanted friendship or more?" she asked immediately and he was rather impressed that she had been paying such close attention even though he wished she'd be a little less forthcoming with her interjections.

"Molly! You're spoiling it!" he told her reproachfully. "In the dream you didn't remember what you had asked all those years ago until I said my answer to it now was, ' _More',_ and that prompted your memory recall."

"And _then_ you kissed me?" she pressed, giving him another hopeful look. Really, all this interruption was _most_ irritating.

"If you keep spoiling my narration, I might stop recounting it," he exclaimed in an aggrieved tone.

Molly thrust out her lower lip, an action which made him think he'd really like to suck on that lower lip and then kiss her senseless. He might have done just that if there hadn't been a baby in the way. "Sorry, sorry," she apologised. "I just want you to get to the good stuff." She followed her comment with a coquettish glance at him which was an interesting juxtaposition to the maternal view of her breast-feeding. He had the distinct feeling she was flirting with him and decided he'd better get moving on his storytelling so that he could move onto much more pleasurable pursuits once Victoria was safely back in her Moses basket.

"Okay, I'll try to speed it up. We kissed and I asked if you'd wait for me for up to a year, if I survived the fall. The dream version of me was a little more enlightened than I was in real life - probably because we had a bit of a history together. Anyway, things went as planned, just like they did in reality and I came back to your flat for a few days. On my last night there we had too much to drink and well, that's when we made love."

Molly pursed her lips. "Well, at least I could be excused for throwing away all my values because I was drunk. I can relate to that, knowing it almost did happen for us a few months ago, before the wedding, except that you were too much of a gentleman to take advantage of me." She looked down at their daughter, then back at Sherlock. "So, did I get pregnant then?"

"Nope. Apparently a few days after I went to stay with Mycroft, I was able to sneak out and book a motel for us. That was the night you got pregnant."

Molly sighed and her eyes clouded a little. Sherlock instinctively knew she was thinking regretfully about how she had tried to move on with Tom. He bent and pressed a kiss to her cheek. "No regrets, sweetheart. You know God brought us together at the right time." He tried to remember what he'd been talking about. "Anyway, as I said, we made love in the dream and you got pregnant."

Molly's lips quirked then. "Well, I guess I had no excuse on that occasion for sleeping with you again when I wasn't drunk. I can't say I blame myself though. Knowing now what a spectacular lover you are, I could definitely see that having been with you once would have pretty much opened the door on me not being able to get enough of you."

Sherlock preened a little at her flattery. She considered him a spectacular lover? Of course, she had called him _magnificent_ in the past, and had informed him that he rocked her world, he reflected, but spectacular as well? That was a new one and he quite liked it. He'd have to add it to the list of terms he had compiled in his mind palace that validated the efficacy of his lovemaking efforts.

 _Not bad for a man who was still a virgin a year ago,_ he thought rather smugly. He was thinking they certainly needed to get back to some spectacular lovemaking in the very near future when Molly sighed again.

"I do wish we had really seen each other following your funeral, but no, you had to watch me giving a eulogy, and then you left and that was it for us for two years,"she said with a note of sadness coloring her tone.

His arm tightened around her. "Sweetheart, I couldn't do anything else. Mycroft made me stay with him after that so we could discuss plans and get me out of the country. If I had known back then I loved you, I would have found a way to keep in touch."

"A least the dream version of you saw me again in this instance," she noted, and he saw her mentally shake herself free of the sad memories from the distant past. "So what happened after I got pregnant?"

"Well, you ended up confiding in Mrs. Hudson, who thought you had a one-night-stand with me before my death. She, of course, was thrilled that you were having my baby." Sherlock smirked, recalling how delighted Mrs. Hudson had been in reality when she had been informed that they were expecting a baby so quickly after the wedding.

As if to reinforce his own thought processes and prove how truly in sync he and his wife were, Molly said, "Well, she certainly was happy when we told her we were expecting - especially when she realised it had happened on our honeymoon."

"Yep, just what I was thinking," he agreed. "Anyway, in my dream, things pretty much skipped then to when I came back, where I initiated a kiss with you when I saw you for the first time in the locker room at the hospital, rather than the other way around as happened in your dream."

Molly pouted. "In real life there was no kissing at all - just a big hug. But I remember desperately wanting to kiss you and then feeling ashamed for the thought because I was engaged to Tom."

"I remember reading that in your diary," Sherlock said, nodding.

"So, did I behave badly and make love with you while I was engaged to Tom, the way I did in my dream?" she questioned, giving Sherlock a sly look.

"Nope. You were much better behaved in my dream, probably because I don't see you as that kind of person under any circumstances," he responded, smiling at her.

Molly blushed at that comment. "I couldn't help my dream!"

Sherlock's hand squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. "I know that, darling. Oh, I think you will be interested to know also that in this dream I had recognised my love for you and had bought a ring - identical to the one you are currently wearing, and I was planning to declare my love and propose after we spent the day together. Once I had asked you to be my assistant that day, and you said there was something you had to tell me, we went through the whole train guy visit, and the conversation afterwards where I said how much you mattered. I was about to declare myself and propose when I saw your engagement ring. Dream me was rather shocked to say the least, just as I was in reality. Later, I texted you and said I supposed your engagement was what you wanted to talk about. You said it was something else, then you asked me to come to your flat. When I came, you introduced me to our daughter."

Molly's mouth dropped open in surprise before she asked, "Was she named Victoria too?"

"Yep," Sherlock popped his _p_ in satisfaction. "Even her middle name was the same, and you said it was because you had faith I would come back. And Victoria looked like a miniature version of you, except she had my eyes," he recounted, then his lips turned downwards, remembering the next part of the dream which had not been so pleasant. "I asked you to break off your engagement and you refused."

Molly flicked a glance at him again. "You know, in real life, if I knew you wanted me, I might have broken it off earlier. So what happened then?"

"Well, I was pretty upset, but I said I wanted to get to know my daughter. Then I avoided you and only visited Victoria presumably when Mrs. Hudson was babysitting her."

"Oh, this is so heartbreaking, Sherlock," Molly said sadly, then made a slight exclamation. "Oh, hold that thought. Victoria is falling asleep. Let me just get a burp from her and hopefully she'll sleep some more." She lifted the baby to her shoulder and patted her back.

Sherlock took the opportunity to kiss his daughter's sweet downy head, as her head bobbled slightly against Molly's shoulder and she gave a sleepy burp.

Satisfied, Molly laid her gently in the Moses basket. Victoria made a little sound and then went quiet. Molly turned towards Sherlock after re-fastening her bra, much to Sherlock's disappointment. He really hated the way Molly had to keep her bra on all the time due to milk leakage. "I'll be right back - just going to duck to the loo," she informed him before heading off to do just that.

She returned a couple minutes later and settled back into bed, leaning on her elbow and facing Sherlock. "Okay, you can continue."

Sherlock tried to recall. He was finding himself rather distracted all of a sudden. The sight of his wife's temporarily visible breasts had caused a stirring within him. "Uh, yeah, well, time warped to John and Mary's wedding, and I was outside later when you came up to me and said you had broken off your engagement. I asked you to come over, then you picked up Victoria and came with her and we slept, the three of us together in my bed," he explained quickly.

Molly smiled at him, "That sounds really sweet. This dream of yours is getting better."

"Can I finish explaining the dream later?" he asked, raking a glance over his wife's scantily clad body that she hadn't bothered to cover after getting back into bed. He couldn't help thinking that the baby was sleeping and he had not had much opportunity lately to enjoy the delights of the marriage bed. In fact, he and Molly had made love on more occasions in that dream than they had done since Victoria had been born, and the thought was rather disconcerting.

"Why not now?" she enquired, giving him a look that revealed she knew exactly the direction in which his thoughts were heading.

Sherlock reached a hand over to caress her cheek. "Because Victoria is asleep, and talking about making love with you earlier in the dream has made me want the real thing. I want my wife to myself, even if only for a little while."

She licked her lips. "Oh, I like the sound of that, but perhaps you should go to the loo first like I just did."

Sherlock groaned, then realised it had been a few hours since he had been to the toilet himself. It was a good idea to not have to contend with bladder urges when he wanted to make love.

Once they were both settled again in bed, Sherlock looked at Molly, clad in her bra and knickers. "Do you think you can take off your bra? The only time I see your breasts lately is when Victoria is feeding from them."

"I might leak, Sherlock," she pointed out doubtfully, biting her lip.

He shrugged. "I doubt you'll leak right now, your supply is probably rather depleted. But if you do happen to start leaking-" here he gave her a sultry look, "perhaps I'd like to see what Victoria finds so delicious - it has to taste better than the formula milk I got into my mouth when we were babysitting Rosie that time."

Molly blushed. "Well, okay then." She was about to reach behind and remove her bra, but Sherlock stopped her. "Allow me."

He unfastened her bra and drew it off, then looked in fascination at the rather plump curves he beheld. He touched them reverently. The only time he had seen them this way since Victoria had been born, was when Molly was taking a shower. "So beautiful," he murmured, bending to kiss them. He was half right in his assumption of Molly's milk depletion. Molly's left breast, from which she had most recently been feeding Victoria, had no leakage, but he immediately noticed a tiny drip forming on the other one which Victoria had suckled on first. He had to admit he was rather curious, so he bent his head and gently licked at the leaking nipple, then daringly gave it a tiny little suck, and Molly, who had not been expecting the action, gave a little gasp.

The breast milk was rather sweet, he decided, not at all unpleasant. Nothing like that nasty formula milk. He took another little experimental suck, a bit harder this time. Not much milk came out. No wonder babies had to feed for so long if they got so little.

"Sherlock!" gasped Molly, grasping at his curls.

He looked up. "What?" he asked innocently. "I was merely conducting an experiment on your milk output. I am sorry to say, your milk production is severely lacking."

Molly rolled her eyes at him. "You should know that already, by the amount of time I have to spend using the breast pump just to provide enough milk for you to give Victoria a feeding overnight."

He grinned at her. "I prefer the practical experience."

When she would have spoken again, he put his finger to her lips. "Let's move on to something we can enjoy together." He replaced his fingers with his mouth and kissed her deeply as his arms enfolded her.

Molly made a sigh of contentment and placed her arms around his neck, pressing her body against his. His own body instantly responded, having been denied access to hers too much lately. But not now, he thought, as he divested Molly of her knickers, followed by his own boxers.

Knowing their time was probably limited, Sherlock didn't spend too much time before going to the "main event" as Molly liked to call it. It did not matter though, she was as eager for him as he was for her, and their joining was a passionate one, leaving them both exhausted in a much more fulfilling way than the exhaustion from being sleep-deprived.

"Leave it off," ordered Sherlock, when Molly reached to put her bra back on afterwards.

"But I'll leak," she grumbled.

"A little leaking won't kill you, nor will it ruin the bed," he pointed out. "I want to hold you without the bra on for once. Let's get some sleep while we have a chance. It's still early." He extended his arms to Molly and enfolded her into his embrace so they could get some sleep. The rest of the dream explanation could wait.

* * *

 **Author's note:** Sorry I had to end this chapter mid-explanation. If I had done it in one chapter, it would have been over 7500 words so you'll have to wait for part two and the final conclusion.

In the meantime, I hope you enjoyed reading Sherlock's explanation of the dream so faro and about their return to intimacy. Finding any private time with a new baby in the house can be quite a challenge!

Oh yeah, and leaking is definitely an ongoing issue for nursing mothers. I aim for realism in my stories!

Note: there are references in this chapter to other stories I've written - _A Journey to Love, Faith and Marriage_ and _What if we Met at Uni? Molly's Dream,_ as well as _A Journey through Molly's Diary._

Hope to hear from you!


	48. Final Explanations

**Author's note:** Alright folks, this is it, the final chapter and a hard-T warning for the final love scene. I'm kind of wondering if I should change the rating to M, but I feel that it then may escape the notice of some readers and even this final love scene doesn't go as far as many T-rated stories. I'll let you be the judge. If you find it a bit spicy, I suggest you just skim over it. Please do provide your opinion on whether it feels like a rating change is in order. If the majority of people who leave feedback think so, I will change it. If you think so as well but don't bother to leave a review stating your opinion, well, I can't read your mind and will just go with the responses I do receive. Let me remind you though, this is the end of the story. If you've read all the way through it, even one review would be a kindness to show your appreciation for the endless hours of hard work I've put into it. This has effectively been a full-time unpaid job for me to write fanfiction. I wouldn't do it if I didn't enjoy it, but it is still a huge boost to know that others value my writing enough to respond to it.

 **Update 9/29/19** Rating changed to M just to be safe.

* * *

A plaintive wail roused Sherlock from a sound sleep. At the same time his nostrils were assailed by the unmistakable smell of a dirty nappy. Molly was already sitting up, and he caught sight of the beads of milk droplets that had formed on both of her nipples.

Molly looked down at herself, then at Sherlock and said to him grumpily, "And that's what happens when I don't wear a bra. As soon as Victoria cries, the mummy milking machine goes online."

Sherlock was rather fascinated by the sight. Without waiting for Molly to give him permission, he leaned over and licked the beads of milk from her nipples, enjoying once again that rather sweet taste as his wife giggled.

"Just for that, you get to change her nappy," Molly informed him in a tone of haughty disdain, lifting her chin in contradiction to the smile on her lips.

He smirked. "I suppose that's a fair trade off - as long as you keep the bra off."

Molly crossed her arms beneath her breasts in a way that made Sherlock's mouth run dry. No matter how often he saw those luscious curves, he could never get enough of them. "Fine," she huffed.

Sherlock proceeded to pick up his daughter and change her nappy, wrinkling his nose as he did so. At least he wasn't holding his breath anymore, but he would always really dislike the smell.

After Victoria was changed and sweet-smelling once more, he gave her a quick kiss on her forehead and handed her to her mother. Daylight was coming through the window, and Sherlock knew it was time to get up anyway. Thank God he had persuaded Molly that she needed to take three months of maternity leave after the baby was born. He wasn't sure how well he would have coped it she had already gone back to work. Parenting was a _lot_ harder than it looked.

Sherlock settled his own pillow underneath Molly's arm for support as she held the baby. They had learned this made things much easier during feeding. Then he proceeded to get dressed for the day, not bothering with his suit jacket.

"Are you going to continue from where you left off with the dream?" asked Molly, pouting at him from her place in bed.

"Oh, yes. I forgot that we were a little distracted from the telling of the tale." He returned to sit on top of the duvet.

Molly grinned at him. "A rather welcome distraction, I must admit."

"Now where was I?" he asked, as his eyes strayed towards Victoria feeding and his wife's other naked breast. He was constantly fascinated at the sight and suddenly recalled his dream-self's embarrassment about Mary breast-feeding. How ironic. But he wasn't up to that part of the dream yet anyway.

"Hmm," said Molly thinking for a few moments before continuing. "You were telling me about Victoria and me sleeping in the same bed as you the night I broke up with Tom."

"Oh, right. Let's see, what came next? We spent the morning together. That night I went back to your flat and we made love." He gave her a suggestive look after he said the words and she dimpled at him.

"Oh, this is getting rather sexy. Was it as good in the dream as in real life?"

"Do you really need me to go into explicit detail, my love, or do you wish to hear the rest of the story? If I must recount every moment of the dream in that fashion, it will never reach a conclusion. Suffice to say, it was very satisfactory."

Molly snorted. "Satisfactory? Not mind-blowing?"

Sherlock frowned at her. "Very well. It was a rather passionate encounter, my hands travelled all over your body and you made all those delightful noises that you always do in real life. If you will allow me to continue, I will give you a practical demonstration later, good enough for you?"

She gave him a flirtatious look from beneath her lashes and purred, "Oh, I'm definitely going to hold you to that." The fire ignited within him and he forced it down. At this rate he was never going to finish relating the dream. "May I proceed with the recounting of events now?" he asked pointedly.

"Go ahead," she responded and he thought for a moment to remember where he had left of, then continued.

"Right then, after we had made love we agreed to keep our new relationship a secret because I needed to woo Janine for a new case and you had just broken off your engagement."

"I wish I'd known about Janine at the time," said Molly reflectively. "It was rather a shock to discover you'd had a girlfriend."

"But you know now it was just for a case, love," Sherlock reminded her. "You also know the nature of our relationship at that time was not one where I would have revealed my plans for a case."

Molly nodded and he went on. "Anyway, to continue, after a month of not seeing you because I was wooing Janine," here, he gave her an apologetic look when she pursed her lips, "you got mad at me for testing positive for drugs just as occurred in the real sequence of events, and then that shooting business happened..."

"All that shooting business?" Molly interrupted, tensing suddenly at his casual words and dislodging Victoria from her suckling position. The baby made a noise of protest and Molly hastily helped her resume feeding, then said tartly as her brows drew together in a frown, "Nice to know you thought almost dying wasn't a big deal."

"Molly, I'm trying to move things along or I'm never going to get this story finished," replied Sherlock defensively. "Anyway, you visited me in the hospital with Victoria and Mary found out we shared a child when Victoria called me Daddy. She promised to keep quiet about it and not tell John. Then I went back to your place to recuperate afterwards for a while." He had said those sentences rather quickly and was pleased Molly hadn't had the chance to interrupt again. Surprisingly, she didn't say anything about Mary finding out about their child but instead commented on what he had said about staying at her flat.

"I would've invited you to do that if I would've thought you were open to me taking care of you back then."

Sherlock looked back at her fondly. "I know that, sweetheart. But I also know the real me wasn't ready for that degree of companionship. I couldn't let you take care of me that way when we were just friends, close as that friendship was. In any case, you did at least look after me in a way, by providing meals either at your flat or mine." He reached over to pat her leg through the duvet.

"Now let me get back to the next thing that happened. This one is rather funny, because my parents turned up in the dream. They wanted to make sure I was getting better and I had invited them over to your flat. When they arrived I told them I was Victoria's father-" He paused then back-tacked a little, that hadn't been entirely accurate. "Well actually, Mummy guessed by Victoria's blue eyes that I was her father. After my parents left, we made love again and then I told you what I was planning to do over Christmas with Magnussen. You got mad at me and sent me away."

"The dream me was very smart for getting mad at you," observed Molly. "Too bad the real me had no clue about it. You really weren't into confiding anything of a personal nature to me, despite our friendship." There was a note of sadness in her voice.

"Molly, we've been over this before and you are aware that John didn't even know my plans until we were at my parents' place on Christmas Day. I didn't want to take any risks. I also couldn't burden you with that kind of thing." He moved closer to Molly, then leaned in for a quick kiss, taking care not to bump their daughter in the process.

Molly's smile following his kiss was still rather wistful. "I know what you're saying, but it still hurts a little that you didn't feel you could confide in me. I guess shadows of the past will come back to haunt us at times."

He looked down at their daughter, then back up at Molly. "But that is all they are, darling, shadows. They have no real significance. We've experienced many dreams by now with various what-if scenarios thanks to me reading your diary, and fortunately they all had happy endings as well," Sherlock pointed out, then continued. "But look how far we've come in real life." He touched a gentle finger to Victoria's cheek as her tiny lips continued to suckle steadily.

Molly looked down too at their baby and then back at him. "And I would not trade this reality for the world. Keep going with your dream explanation."

Sherlock thought for a moment to recall where he had left off, then continued the narration. "The next time we saw each other was the day before Christmas. Long story short, we made up and I gave Victoria a mini lab set for Christmas."

Molly chuckled and looked down at their infant again. "That sounds like you." Then her brow furrowed. "Hang on, wouldn't our daughter have been less than three years old?"

"Yes, but the dream me replied to a comment that you made in a similar vein. I think I said something like 'it's never too early for her to learn'." Sherlock grinned and glanced at his daughter as well. "We are definitely going to have to get her one of those toy chemistry sets at some point anyway."

Molly giggled. "That's my Sherlock, always thinking ahead."

Sherlock grazed the tip of his finger along Molly's jawline. "I like being your Sherlock, just as I like you being my Molly."

She flashed him another smile then sobered. "Well, did everything go down the same as it did in reality with that horrible man on Christmas Day?"

"Pretty much. The only difference is that in the dream, you came to Baker Street unexpectedly to see me before I was being sent off overseas on that one-way mission."

"Oh, the one you never told me about that John had to tell me about instead," she said pertly. "I still can't believe you would have left without a word."

"Don't forget the letter I had written you, sweetheart," Sherlock reminded her.

"Okay," she conceded. "At least you had written a letter even if it took another few months before I got to see it." Her tone was rather dry.

Sherlock huffed. "I was high at the time, remember? That's why I forgot to give it to you. My memory has always been a bit foggy when I have overindulged - but that's in the past and you know it won't ever happen again. But anyway, to continue, obviously, the Moriarty image showed up and I ended up staying in London." He paused, then remembered something else. "Oh, I forgot to mention that I gave you a locket for Christmas. That locket was the one that I really gave you as a wedding present."

Molly looked at him with a dreamy smile. "I loved my wedding present, sweetheart. We need to get a picture of Victoria to put in it." Then she added cheekily, "Of course, the best wedding present was unwrapping _you_."

He leaned over and brushed a kiss to her lips again, taking care not to disturb their suckling baby. She seemed to have been feeding for a very long time, he thought silently. "I seem to be having trouble remembering things clearly, Molly. You are being entirely too distracting."

"If you don't finish the story soon, Victoria is going to be done feeding again," she remarked.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Well, whose fault would that be with your constant interjections? Perhaps it would have been better for me just to write it all down for you to read and you could have commented on it afterwards with your thoughts on the dream and what occurred throughout."

"Oh, like in fanfiction," Molly remarked and Sherlock stared at her.

"Fan what?"

Molly waved her free hand dismissively. "Never mind, just keep going."

"Okay, okay. Let's see." He decided to keep the narration less detailed. "After I was saved from going to Europe and met with you briefly to explain what had happened, I told you I had to figure out what the whole Moriarty business was about before we could be together again. We texted back-and-fort to each other though. Then Mary and John had their baby. We saw one another briefly after the baby was born and then not again until the christening. And that's the day you told me you were pregnant again."

Molly did a double take. "What? You got me pregnant again? When did this happen?"

Sherlock laughed. "Apparently so. It happened the day before Christmas just like in your dream."

Molly smirked. "Well, I do hope we have more than one child, so this is pretty cool. Did we make up properly?"

"In a manner of speaking." He quickly recounted the rest of what had happened, the events leading up to Mary's death, the way his dream counterpart had been ready to propose, the heartbreak that followed. He told Molly about the way they slowly made their way back to one another but that dream Molly had then pulled back, out of a desire to follow God's wishes rather than her own. That made Molly smile.

"I like that Kayla was in your dream advising me," said Molly. "I think she would have been just the way you described her if I had done the things I did in the dream, and I'm glad my dream counterpart remembered her faith and how important it is. Did your dream include everything that happened at Sherrinford as well?" she questioned.

"If you are asking whether the phone call happened, yes. In fact, it played out the exact same way, and you made me say I loved you first."

He recounted the last part of the dream, how she had experienced contractions and been hospitalised, how he had confessed he had loved her for years and how he had subsequently proposed. He then related what had happened with John when they confessed their relationship to him.

"I have to say, I'm glad the dream version of me told John off for the way he treated you in the past. I know John has apologised for his behaviour but I do sometimes wonder why he seemed so prone to violence."

Sherlock shrugged. "He was a soldier, Molly. Soldiers tend to become de-sensitised to acts of violence because they see and experience it so frequently on the battlefield. You have to admit, John has really turned over a new leaf too since he's been with Kayla, and I feel he is coming closer to faith as well."

"You definitely have to give Kayla credit for her gentle guidance in that regard," said Molly, nodding her agreement.

"Both of you are wonderful role models for the Christian faith, sweetheart," Sherlock told his wife earnestly as he watched her lift Victoria up to her shoulder at last to burp her. Victoria was blinking this time, no longer sleepy.

"Have we reached the end of the story then?" queried Molly.

"Not quite," responded Sherlock with a twist to his lips. "There was still Mycroft to contend with. I went to see him the day after I proposed to you, to tell him about us, and he wanted me to be there as a buffer when he spoke to our parents, just as happened in real life. It was rather amusing though, because he had noticed you were pregnant again during the phone call and made the deduction that the baby was mine. Yet he failed to comprehend the fact that your first baby was also mine. Apparently my brother was not as smart as he thought he was and I took great pleasure in informing him of that fact. Anyway, once I told him we were engaged, he came up with the idea that our parents would be nicely distracted if he could arrange to have us get married immediately."

Molly glanced over at him. "Well, Mycroft really _is_ the British government, isn't he? Wouldn't it be nice if he really did have that kind of power to waive the twenty-eight day advance notice requirement?"

Sherlock's lips curved upwards. "I assure you, he certainly has a lot of power, but that is probably beyond him. On this occasion though, he was able to enlist the hasty services of his dear friend Justin, the Archbishop of Canterbury, at short notice."

Molly burst into laughter at that, startling the baby who bobbled her head at the unexpected sound. "I suppose that happened as a result of us watching the royal wedding of Prince Harry and Meghan Markle a few weeks ago."

Sherlock chuckled as well. "Quite possibly. Remember how I mentioned there was no 'you may kiss the bride' in the wedding service? Well, it happened again in my dream and I insisted on kissing you."

Molly giggled,. "I should hope so."

"You know," Sherlock said thoughtfully, "that whole hasty wedding sequence may have been prompted by something else."

When Molly looked at him questioningly, Sherlock said, "I do not believe that particular scenario for a quick wedding would have been possible unless my brother really was friends with the archbishop. I am rather certain that is not the case. Mycroft deals with political figures and royalty rather than the clergy. However," here, Sherlock rose from the bed and retrieved his phone, "I did discover something a few weeks ago that might interest you, and this too may have contributed to why I dreamed our marriage was performed by the Archbishop of Canterbury."

He quickly searched for the information he wished to show Molly that he had been looking at after doing a search for fun about whether there was a way to waive the 28 day advance notice period for a wedding. Finding the article he sought, he showed the information to Molly, which read,

" _If a couple wish to be married in an emergency in a Church of England church, a special licence from the Archbishop of Canterbury is required."_

"Oh," Molly breathed, "that means it _might_ have been possible. Your parents are Church of England and you were baptised into that church." Then she shrugged, "But I'm glad we got married at my church in from of my church family anyway."

" _Our_ church family," Sherlock reminded her.

Molly poked Sherlock and then handed Victoria to him so he could hold her for a short while. "You know what I mean. So tell me, did anything else important happen after that in the dream or was the wedding the end of it?"

He smirked. "It went on a little longer. My parents offered to take Victoria back to Sussex with them for a few days so we could enjoy a proper wedding night and honeymoon, and we went back to your flat to get some clothing. I booked us into the Ritz, naturally, seeing as I did that for our real wedding night, but I then said I'd like to start the honeymoon early."

He smiled then at her, a rather seductive one over his daughter's head as she lay nestled in his arms. "So the dream ended with us making love again which was _very_ nice." Then he added, "Oddly enough though, the last part of the dream was done as if I was experiencing it through your eyes. Your last thoughts in the dream before I woke up for real, were some of the words to a song. It happened to be lyrics from ' _In His Love_ ,' the one you sang for me that you had written about in your diary." He lifted Victoria up slightly and then bent his head down so he could gently rub noses with her after he said the words. How he adored the life he had created with Molly. She was such a miracle. The object of his affections blinked back up at him placidly.

"Which words from the song was the dream version of me remembering?"

Sherlock thought for a moment, trying to recall the lyrics. He'd only actually heard Molly sing the song once to him and it was rather remarkable that his subconscious had even recalled them. He concentrated, recalling the scene where Molly had sung for him and drew it successfully from his mind palace.

"It was the bridge of the song where it says, 'Body and soul joined as one; my fears for the future are gone. With you now my life is complete; you are the other half of me.'"

Sherlock smiled at Molly. "I'd say those words are pretty appropriate for us, aren't they?" He looked down at Victoria again. "What do you think, little one?"

Victoria seemed more interested in reaching up to grab one of his curls and Sherlock groaned. "Not you too! I already have a goddaughter and wife obsessed with my hair; is every female in my life going to act that way?"

Molly laughed. "Apparently so, my love."

"I think it's time to put you in the bouncer," Sherlock informed his daughter. "Molly, why don't you get dressed in the meantime?"

At Molly's nod he took Victoria into the sitting room and settled her in the bouncer. Then he played a game of peek-a-boo with her, holding her little hands over her eyes and removing them.

Several minutes later, Molly came into the room. To his surprise she had not dressed, but had just put on a dressing gown. She knelt down and wrapped her arms around him from behind as he sat cross-legged in front of the bouncer. Then he felt her lips touch his neck. "I thought we'd wait until the baby is asleep and do some more catching up."

"Mmm, I like the sound of that." Molly repositioned herself to sit beside him and they both watched and played with their baby until her eyes closed in sleep once more.

Sherlock was quite delighted when Molly, taking advantage of that fact, started to unbutton his shirt. "I have an idea, Sherlock," she said in a seductive tone of voice to which he immediately responded.

"And what would that be?" he asked in a deep voice, allowing her to ease his shirt off his shoulders and onto the floor.

"Remember awhile ago when I suggested we use my yellow armchair and you told me it would have to wait until I wasn't pregnant anymore, or words to that effect anyway?"

He stood up, allowing Molly to remove his socks and unfasten his trousers. "I like what you're thinking, sweetheart," he said, giving her a look that indicated he was ready and willing to do whatever Molly wanted.

Then he began moving her backwards towards the armchair. He stopped when her legs were against the front of the chair, and put his arms around her, capturing her lips with his own, kissing her passionately, hungrily, feeling that ache within him as he did so. Then he pulled at the belt of her dressing gown as he pushed her down on to the armchair, drawing it away from her body. He drew in his breath when he discovered she was completely naked beneath it. "So, Mrs. Holmes, this was your plan all along. You were planning to seduce me, weren't you?"

"I told you we needed to catch up, and you also promised me a practical demonstration of your lovemaking from the dream," she said, batting her lashes at him, while pulling her arms out of the dressing gown sleeves. She beckoned him down to her and he complied, leaning forward to kiss her again. He felt her hands tugging on his boxers and he obligingly pulled them off.

He thought about telling her that a practical demonstration of them making love in the bedroom would not be quite as accurate if they were to do so using her armchair, but decided Molly's idea was far more interesting. The end result would be the same.

Instead, he let go of the dream memories in order to enjoy the real thing and began to kiss her body, moving his lips down her throat, feeling that throbbing pulse. He moved further downwards, paying homage to her breasts, briefly suckling each in turn, enjoying her little sounds of pleasure. He continued to move down her body kissing the belly that had so recently been a home for their child, and finally, he loved every aspect of her sweetness, this woman he adored, demonstrating that adoration until she was writhing and whimpering, begging for him to be with her fully.

At last, he rose to his knees, placing his hands on her hips firmly and submitted to his own need for the warm, intimate embrace only her body could provide.

Their coming together again was filled with the joy they always felt when their bodies united as one. Despite the fact that their encounter was a little more audible than usual, their baby slumbered on, although Sherlock at one point heard a sound coming from somewhere, possibly the front door. His mind barely registered it though through his passion inflamed senses.

It was only afterwards, when they were still trying to catch their breath, and Sherlock had lifted Molly from the chair and seated himself so he could hold her on his lap, that she said, "Did you hear a noise a little while ago while we were making love?"

"I did, but quite frankly, I wasn't thinking too clearly at the time about anything but you. It was probably just Mrs. Hudson. You know how she has a tendency to come up for a visit whenever she feels like it."

Molly gasped. "Do you think she… _heard_ us?" He saw the flush rising in her cheeks at the thought.

"If she did, it's her own fault for always coming upstairs unannounced," he pointed out with a shrug. He really didn't care, one way or another.

Molly hid her face against his shoulder and mumbled, "That's so embarrassing."

Sherlock chuckled. "Remember the time I was massaging you and she thought we had succumbed to our desires before the wedding?"

Molly raised her head hopefully. "Maybe she will think you were just massaging me again."

Sherlock knew very well that the sounds of passion he and Molly had been making could in no way be mistaken for the sounds of someone receiving a massage, but if his wife wanted to believe that, he wasn't about to disabuse her of that notion. Instead he kissed her forehead and said, "Perhaps."

Victoria slept peacefully on, as Molly snuggled into Sherlock's embrace and said, "I love you, Sherlock."

"I love you too, Molly." _A sexy dream followed by two rounds of making love with my extremely sexy, alluring wife. Things are getting back to normal in the Holmes household,_ he thought with a contented smile as he stroked his wife's long, slightly tangled hair.

Downstairs, in 221A, Mrs. Hudson was sipping her tea and thinking fondly of the people who meant the most to her in the world. It had been awhile, but things were getting back to normal in the Holmes household.

 **THE END - FINALLY!**

* * *

 **Author's note:** I hope you have enjoyed the final installment of this story after so many months of following it. I certainly never dreamed it would go on so long and I am rather impressed that people have stuck with it.

As often happens, this chapter contains references to other events that have occurred in the timeline of my post TFP characters, in other of my stories. The talk about the royal wedding comes from my story, _A Royal Wedding,_ if you'd like to check it out.

Did you have a little giggle about Mrs. Hudson potentially hearing her tenants in the throes of lovemaking and Molly's embarrassment as well as Sherlock's complete lack of it, or were you embarrassed for Molly as well? I know I'd be completely mortified too!

A huge thank you to all of you wonderful readers who have supported me with your reviews chapter-by-chapter, encouraged me with kind words and those of you who also made suggestions that I was able to incorporate into the story.

To offer you a little perspective on the actual length of this story you have been reading, it is almost as long as _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_ , which is a very long book, second only in length to book 5! Lucky for J K Rowling, her stories have gained her enormous success and wealth, while mine has been a labour of love, with the only compensation being the reviews I have received for it. I don't seek wealth or success, just acknowledgment that what I write is of value to readers. As I mentioned in the A/N at the beginning of this final chapter, if you've been reading/following the story but haven't ever left feedback, this is your last chance to do so.

A final note to those of you who have been my biggest supporters, you know who you are - if I ever manage to publish an original work professionally, you are the ones who will be getting a mention in my own acknowledgments list!

Stand by for my next story, _A Journey through Loss._ It is set in 2027 and will contain many spoilers for the future of my "real" characters. So be forewarned. Will you be interested in reading it?


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